


Nature of My Game

by AGRey701000



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: A revenge/vengence story from Jon's POV, Absolution, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Drama, Blood Magic, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Gen, Humanism, Jon Needs a Hug, M/M, Mysticism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Redemption, Reformation, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Sorcerers, Tables turned romance, Think of your favorite revenge film/book/etc...THAT, Toppling empires, Underage at first BUT later Aged-up, Violence, battling with the question of to forgive or not to forgive?, guilty pleasure fic, loose generalized history references, there's no happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGRey701000/pseuds/AGRey701000
Summary: As he lay dying, he spots the snake slithering towards the door to leave, tears forming in his eyes he asks with shallow breath, “Why would you do this to me?”The snake looks at him, eyes iridescently green against his sleek obsidian scales, “You knew I was a snake when you took me in.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Wally West, John Constantine/Zatanna Zatara, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne, Kathy Branden/Maya Ducard, Past Bruce Wayne/Talia al Ghul, Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 18
Kudos: 51





	1. Death of a Prince

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This idea wouldn't leave me be, so enjoy. 
> 
> Languages
> 
> * (1): min alfiel walnatija-Arabic
> 
> * (2): alhamam fi mahb alriyh-Arabic
> 
> * (3): shaear alhakim-Arabic

**DO NOT REPOST. DO NOT EDIT. DO NOT REBLOG.**

**Disclaimer:** I DO NOT OWN THE DC FRANCHISE OR ANY AFFILIATES.

**Copyright © 2020 Antonia G. Reyes All Rights Reserved.**

^^^^^^^^^^^

_“Moral wounds have this peculiarity - they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.”_

**_Alexandre Dumas_ **

**Chapter 1** : Death of a Prince

**_(((_** _Once there was a man who found an injured snake and feeling pity brought it back to his home, nursed it little by little until it fully healed. The man had developed an affection for his reptilian occupant so much so that he’d ignored his better judgement. He was sure that the snake reciprocated his feelings but one day he awoke with a searing pain in his hand and looking down he noticed two puncher holes. As he lay dying, he spots the snake slithering towards the door to leave, tears forming in his eyes he asks with shallow breath, “Why would you do this to me?”_

_The snake looks at him, eyes iridescently green against his sleek obsidian scales, “You knew I was a snake when you took me in.”_

Jon nestled deeper into the sheets, huddled snuggly between his parents as fat tears fell from his eyes. “B-But the man was-was so kind and cared for the snake...how could he?” His timid voice asked feebly. His mother carted her fingers through his thick curls in an affectionate and comforting gesture, chestnut eyes softly smiling at her husband’s azure blue irises.

The father, King of Krypton closed his son’s anthology storybook and grinned, “Stories my son, are tomes of entertainment most of the time. However, they also serve purpose in teaching us life lessons and morals. Tonight’s story was a lesson _—‘Do not give your trust irresponsibly and be leery of the nature of others.’_ ”

The little prince, unwilling to accept this starkly black and white explanation, huffed and buried his face in his mother’s bosom, mumbling, “That’s awful! If-if that’s true then that means everyone in the palace is not to be trusted and—but everyone is so nice and--” quieting the youngster’s ramblings with a firmly gentle pat on his back, his father’s steady chuckling relaxed his rapidly beating heart.

“It does not necessarily mean you must mistrust all you come in contact with but only that you must learn caution. It is confusing and complicated for you now but when you grow into a man you will understand.”

Too upset to respond, Jon sighed dejectedly and simply lulled to sleep, this night becoming a forgotten memory. **_)))_**

____________________________

**5 years later....**

Kandor, Krypton. Country and capitol of the Kryptonese. Kingdom of Kal-El, the current and reigning ruler of the civilization. His wife, Lois Lane of House Lane was a noblewoman without royal blood but stole the young monarch’s heart with her strong sense of morality, fearlessness of speech and wit and unrelenting loyalty. He took her as his one and only wife who blessed him with three sons and a daughter.

First born son was named Con-El, ‘Conner’ as was custom of his mother’s kin to christen according to their Celtic traditions. He came into the world screaming, boisterous and lively. He grew like a bean stock into a strong and dependable young man. Intelligent, honorable and brave—he had the acute ability to acquire friends everywhere his feet lead him.

Second born son was named Za-El, “Zachary” and he was weepy but made no real fuss, which worried his parents at first, but soon those forebodings were dismissed. He had a tongue as sharp and double-edged as the sword he wielded and had a knack for politics.

The first and only daughter born was named Anor-El, “Anora” who came into the world as her eldest brother, wailing. She grew into a dignified and fierce beauty who was a spitting image of her mother safe for the ebony tresses and she had the conviction of a true ruler.

The fourth and last child born was Jon-El, “Jonathan” whose first breath was followed by gleeful laughing. He was the heart of the family—endlessly optimistic, empathetic and merciful and yet he was capable of clever deception and mimicry.

They lived in a world of mysticism, politics and war, of dynasties and destinies. Krypton was a sprawling and winding city of progressive ideals and disciples of knowledge. The civilization was built upon mathematics and astronomy, which dictated the future of the Kryptonese people. Great temples and palaces lined the streets, splayed amongst miles of fertile green land.

However, no dynasty is without its corruption; Krypton was no exception. Though the towering elites were comprised of Kryptonese heritage, a melting pot of varying races and ethnicities was spawned through wartime victory spoils and slavery. There were edicts created by the democracy that afforded freedom to slaves who worked a total of twenty years and by law, they could ask for their break of bondage. However, it was merely the faux righteous twittering of nobles. At the core, they held no real merit or power, it was a roll of the dice— if luck was evident then the master would set his slaves free but if not, then let one say that the population _wasn’t_ comprised seventy to nearly eighty percent of domestic enslavement.

The minute saving grace, if one could remark it as so, was the freedom of religion and separate housing off the main house lands and the allowance of entrepreneurship under the restrictive economic guidelines of the government. It was an obvious delusion to placate the ever-present cloud of discourse. However, it was ingenious strategy; control the social climate and create an illusionary sense of entitlement and plant the seeds of isms within the slave class so that their attentions will wane away from the true demagogues.

Though King Kal-El ruled with honor, morality, humility and attempted to intervene in the affairs of state, one of his great flaws was that he was an innate pleaser. A man who ruled with the heart of a pacifist diplomat but turned the other way when he sent out his army to ‘discipline’ threats to his rule and family. In truth, he would have been better suited to a farmer’s life than that of royalty.

Kal-El’s family was his sole reason for living and he wanted to exist in the light without being seen. It was suffice to say that his counsel often had to medicate their relentless migraines and drown their frustrations in illicit affairs mixed with copious amounts of liquor just to venture back to the palace and deal with the dubious ruler.

Regardless though, he served the democracy well as a puppet monarch and the ‘good’ King was more than content to exist in his gilded cage and dispense lackluster leadership.

____________________________

“You’ll have to do better than that if you’re to defeat me dear brother!” The umber haired boy lunged with great finesse at his older brother with his saber barely missing the sideburns of the eldest. Twisting like wind out of the pare, Conner deflects and crosses Zachary’s sword with his and the two weapons swirl and spin until they part.

The ebony haired youth chuckles as he positions himself into a steadier stance, “Zachy you have a terrible habit of underestimating your opponents— _careful!_ ”

The latter huffed as he proceeded to clang steal with steal. Under a shady canopy, Anora was faintly eavesdropping on her older siblings but mostly focused on the latest philosophic scroll she’d acquired from the Rao library.

Off a ways from all three, Jon sat by one of the countless fountains playing ‘war’ with his brass soldiers and cavalry when in the distance he heard the distinct sound of adulation. Curious, he dashed to the palace walls and claimed the clinging ivy.

Situating himself on the ledge, he saw that it was Papa’s army returning after five months of combat with the Bludhavians. From the looks of things, the escapades proved bountiful “Look-look! They’ve returned, the army has returned!” the little prince rattled off as he claimed, nearly tripping off the vines and racing towards the commotion.

____________________________

The army had returned successfully having conquered over the admittedly formidable foes who were one of the last remaining pagan tribes of the east coast. Their capital, Blüdhaven was their only remaining stronghold. The Kryptonians in truth were no stronger nor more intimidating than any other enemy, but what they performed artfully was siege warfare by method of attrition. Ninety percent of their major battles were won in this manner. They were a shrewd and obdurate people thus their enemies’ wails and pleas for mercy barely stirred their hearts. Kal-El possessed a rather severe retributive streak; what he lacked in politics and competent diplomacy he certainly made up for on the battlefield.

Jon was unaware as to what extent his father’s ruthlessness carried because he was raised, as were his siblings to believe in a carefully orchestrated lie. A misconstruction of the truth that was more appealing to the House of El image. They believed their father to be a pacifistic sort more concerned with grace than war. Something akin to a chivalrous knight that only fought when it was absolutely justified. Naturally, Jon grew to admire this heroic portrayal and thus aspired to live up to his father’s reputation. He devoured scrolls of fairytales depicting knights and noble kings whom ruled their lands with dignity and benevolence; he practiced obsessively his swordsmanship, combat skills and diligently studied military stratagems. He was a great lover of history and read religiously the chronicles of Krypton and many other volumes of antiquity.

Today Jon stood quiet and proud next to his brothers, sister, mother and their chief advisor, his grandfather Jor-El. There were cheers and flower petals being thrown by the people and servants.

On a horse of pure white, Kal-El rode in and dismounted his steed with a brilliantine smile on his face. Alongside second to him was his general, Hal Jordan equipped in his lustrous green and black armor with war weariness evident in his features.

Kal-El walked towards his queen and took her in his arms as he kissed the breath out of her. Lois sighed as her entire body tingled and left her limp in her husband’s embrace. She had missed his face, smell and affections to such a degree that she’d ran the entire palace crazy with her micromanagement tendencies and nearly suffocated her children with her overbearing parenting. If she had it her way, she would tether her offspring to her womb forever; Gods have mercy if anything should befall her husband but if it ever did, their children were all she had left of him. The woman had a great aristocracy about her but pray no adversary raises a hand to her child lest one wants to battle a fearsome lioness.

After the king and queen’s greeting, and quick hug to his father, the man moved on to each of his children. Lingering earnestly for he missed them terribly as if he were a man without his five senses.

____________________________

“Blüdhaven was an unimpressive feat, given the terrain and climate of which our men were finding difficulty adapting to, I would have expected more of a challenge but I suppose gods must find satisfaction in the small things.” Jordan smirked pompously as he boasted about the war to the Kryptonese court. Kal-El rolled his eyes disinterestedly; he was a man of waning attention, never dwelling longer then perhaps a week depending on the level of importance on any one subject. This trait made the five month dedicated to the crusade torturous and maddening.

He sighed, thank Rao it was over and done with.

As he wondered the halls of the palace towards his children’s’ courters, his azure irises wandered and took in the mighty statues of his predecessors—immortal stone guardians who appeared vigilant and yet saw nothing at all. The religious customs of his brethren dictated sainthood earned through deeds of the individual when alive. A quaint deception, for anyone and their brother could vie the Raoese priests a slot in the ‘heavens’ for the right price. Those without the means had to be contented with a worshiper’s existence, which counted for little in the great scheme of things.

The nature of the desperate sought zealous means of absolution and only ever received falsehoods.

Kal-El was greatly disturbed by this blatant exploitation but he’d learned in the past not to challenge the authority of the priestly class. Begrudgingly he settled for marginal peace that came in the guise of a treaty that afforded freedom of religion amongst the natives and countless onslaught of varying races within the vast Kryptonese kingdom. At first, the church vehemently refused the stipulation under the grounds that it would be blasphemy to deny the ‘true Gods’ and prevent men of the cloth from ‘administering’ amongst the heathen lambs.

Kal-El merely had to tip his head and in walked the skeletons of the priests, couriers with their arms full of written evidence recounting countless offenses having to do with prostitution, slave trading, and embezzlement from the coffers and nobility. It was blackmail of the greatest kind, for he now was the highest on high amongst these ostentatious ants.

The threat of exposure to the nobles and therein losing their greatest cash cows as well as being branded disreputable was enough to get the head high priest to sign the treaty.

Unfortunately a piece of parchment served no better than a glorified handkerchief that the Raoese priests blew their noses in and merely sought more discrete loop holes to exploit and conduct their dirty deeds.

That had been some years ago when his reign had just begun and within a couple more stressful, disheartened years of political kindergarten games resulting in more battles than wars won, the moral fire to resurrect the golden age of his five-time great grandfather Cor-El’s dynasty fizzled to an ember that eventually was choked out with the lack of support from his father.

While he had some great legacies in his bloodline, he also possessed black sheep as well. His father and his father’s father and the last two generations were proof of that. Though he was a staunch pacifist in the eyes of his people and was believed to lack in diplomacy, the true motivation that brought about such a choice was that he was born with an incurable illness of biology.

It was akin to being possessed by a demon, except that it was the very blood that ran through his veins. Lois had witnessed him in one or two of his infamous ‘rages’, _‘like a beast’_ she’d remarked after he’d come out of the red haze, a monster bent on near total carnage and the worst of it was it wasn’t predictable, it came like a flash of lightening. The only solution to this curse was war and combat to sate the anomaly. As it was however, all choices come with their ramifications; his was that he was absent from his children’s lives half the time.

His solution was coddling and spoiling them though Lois, bless her, did a satisfactory job mitigating her husband’s whims upon their offspring. She’d essentially spent life perpetually pregnant due to the fact that when Kal-El returned from a conquest they would copulate incessantly as if they were nymphs and the result was their first three children each born within a year of each other. After their daughter Anor-El, Lois had rebuffed her husband’s fervent advances, explaining to him the strain that maternity had on her body. Though disappointed, the king was a compassionate and empathetic man and so agreed to abstinence. It wasn’t till ten years later that their last child Jon-El was born.

Kal-El smiled when he thought of his youngest, the boy reminded him so much of himself and in some ways that worried him greatly. It had been one of the motivations for essentially, without meaning to, vesting favoritism upon the boy, which didn’t fall agreeably with the rest of the children. In the beginning, it had garnered jealously and resentments but those grievances were quickly spurned by Lois and Kal-El pulling the three aside to share their concerns about his supposed genetic malady. They eventually grew in understanding and animosities were snuffed out in place of great affection and protection over the youngest of them.

____________________________

Knocking lightly on Jonathan’s door and when receiving no answer, the monarch cracked it open and his eyes fell upon all four siblings playing make believe.

Conner, in his makeshift blanket cape whooshing around the room, chased by Zachary and Anora huddled under the blanket fort with Jonathan as they giggled and hollered. To look upon such an innocent scene one would almost forget that three of the four were nearing mid to late adolescence.

Briskly sneaking in, hiding behind various pillars and looming furniture, Kal-El got close enough to his eldest boys’ vicinity until he was within jumping distance. When they came back around the monarch leaped at them roaring like a lion, which startled everyone eliciting yelps that quickly melted into fits of laughter.

“My, here I’m thinking I have one child to tuck into bed and I discover five toddlers running amuck.”

Lois closed the door as she chuckled along with her family and gasped screamed as Kal-El threw her over his broad shoulder, she smirked as she theatrically bemoaned, “ _Oh no! Whatever shall I do? Help! Someone help me please!_ ”

The three boys all puffed up their chests and charged after their father as Anora watched on and laughed.

____________________________

Jon was an early riser, always had been even in infancy, his family nicknamed him “Sunshine” because it was as if he rose and fell with the sun, gaining energy from its warm rays. Today the little prince was especially bright eyed and bushy tailed, he’d heard through the palace gentry gossip that the royal stable master acquired a new hand by way of Blüdhaven, a _‘spoil of war’_.

Rounding the corner, Jon halted in his stead as his sights landed on the hand, he was roughed up, somewhat unkempt and shackled with neck and wrist cuffs, his hair thick and black as night with sharp angular eyes and his face was feather edged but the expression was hard and obstinate. His skin was tanned like the desert sands but his eyes...his eyes were the brightest, lustrously vivacious green he’d ever seen.

The young Kryptonian smiled, excitement shooting through him as he walked casually towards his eldest brothers and father. Conner noticed first and grinned, ushering him over to stand between himself and Zachary. As they stood and waited for their father to commence his conversation, Jon chanced a look at the boy; he couldn’t be more than ten or eleven, about the age of himself. He was staring straight ahead at nothing but there was a cloud of sadness set over his irises that pinched at the prince’s heartstrings.

Kal-El hummed and shook the man’s hand, “Well Thaddeus, I trust you will find great use of this lad in your work and home.”

The man, Thaddeus grinned good naturedly as he lightly patted the boy’s shoulder and Jon smiled; for as long as he’d been alive, the old man had been the overseer of the animals and even his instructor for horseback lessons. He was kind hearted, widowed and had but one grown daughter that was married and lived in the capital. The octogenarian bent down slowly and unlocked the shackles from the boy, holding them in the opposite hand.

“Yes my King, he shall want for nothing. It is fortunate that you brought him to my attention before the slave auctioneers could get him.”

There was a grim and tense air that overcame the group but it quickly dissipated in favor of Kal-El taking the ex-slave’s hand in his and squeezing it reassuringly, “Fear not, for you will have my protection within these walls for as long as I am alive.”

His father’s eloquence swelled his pride and affection, Jon couldn’t help but beam with admiration and from the light energy he was feeling, neither could his brothers. With a parting bow, the old stable master ushered his new charge in the direction of the servant’s village.

____________________________

“Hello?”

A rustling caught Jon’s attention as he strained his eyes to the shadowy corner of the horse corrals, smirking slyly thinking he’d spook Abbas. As he approached, his head was turned by yet another rustling coming from the opposite side of the sheds and then another until he suddenly felt the wind knocked out of him and he landed on his back with a hard thud. Blinking away the starry vision, the first thing his mind met was the pointed end of a jagged pitchfork. He felt the cool sweat slither down his back and his heart cease momentarily but regained some semblance of cognitive thought as he uttered, “N-Nice to meet you t-too...”

The boy, Abbas glared down at him, scrutinizing until he was apparently satisfied and removed the tool from the prince’s face, he merely turned around and resumed his chores of forking hay for the stallions and sheep, never uttering a word.

Jon for his part sat up awkwardly, standing and brushing off the dirt and straw plastered to his garments and hair.

“That was quite impressive...where did you learn that techn---”

“If you require my services Majesty, speak it or else leave me to my work.”

The Kryptonian sucked in a breath, taken aback by the blatantly arrogant tone. Jon felt a surge of annoyance, almost had a mind to complain to Thaddeus but his pride would not allow him.

He huffed and shook his head, crossing his arms he spoke with calm authority “Yes actually, I wish to ride and want two horses ready, if it’s not _too much_ trouble.”

He inwardly snickered with glee at the arched eyebrow, twitching eye and soured expression Abbas was shooting him. He reminded Jon of a grumpy feline.

Abbas regained his composure and wordlessly placed the pitchfork against a wooden beam and readied the steeds.

As Jon stood outside the stables, he inhaled a gust of air, perfumed with honeysuckle and blossoms.

“Your stallions my Liege”

The prince rolled his eyes and turned to face the stoic hand; he mounted the animal and patted its muscly neck as it keened appreciatively. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the boy looking around for the other rider and he huffed.

“Well then, shall we ride?” the boy blinked, squinted and eyed him incredulously “Pardon?”

Jon stared off into the distance, “My siblings are busy and it’s a beautiful day, lets ride. I require your companionship so... _hop to it!_ ” he clapped for emphasis which bristled the boy instantly and made Jon laugh aloud as he galloped ahead hearing the stable hand yelling after him.

____________________________

“This palace was built with the rarest and sturdiest stone found on this side of the world, melka-mor. The legends say that my twelve time great grandfather discovered the rock while he traversed the great Zorrazo Mountain peaks in search of a legendary cave of ‘Kry-Nite’ magic as it were...”

By torch, Jon led Abbas through hidden and trap doors of the fortress, guiding and dishing out Kryptonese history at leisure. Many of the tunnels lead outside the palace walls into the open fields of the grasslands and rural towns that encapsulated the capital.

Since that day in the corrals, Jon had slowly but surely built a tentative friendship with the somber stable boy, begrudgingly Abbas had grown accustomed to Jon’s incessant visits, idle conversation and stubborn attempts to help him with chores.

The boys had begun to share bits and pieces of their lives and culture with each other, more so Jon then the other but that suited Jon fine. It was refreshing to have someone else his age, a friend, as he had none of genuine article due to his royal status.

It was true that being blue-blooded afforded many advantages but the things that meant the most were always the hardest if not the most unobtainable things of all.

The Kryptonian loved and was grateful for his family but if he had to be honest, there was always an innate longing for comradely kinship, one gained through constant work to gain trust and understanding that was more precious than gold.

His father had that with Hal Jordan and his brothers had each other but he’d been left without. As he glanced beside him and watched as his friend gazed with amazement at the latest tunnel they were exploring, he smiled to himself because he knew he’d found that in Abbas Ali.

____________________________

“I don’t think this is wise Jon, what if someone catches us?” Emerald eyes glowed brightly in the high moonlight. It was strangely breathtaking and Jon had to shake his head to refocus, he tutted as he pulled the hooded cloak tighter around his head and counted the seconds till the final guard walked the perimeter of the walls.

“I know this palace and its soldiers’ timetables like the back of my hand Abbas have a little faith will you?” he hissed.

He counted, ‘50, 51, 52, 53, 54---turns a corner—GO!’

Jon tapped his friend’s shoulder, “Follow me—now, hurry and be quick...” the prince dashed across the courtyard, melding into shadows until he reached the wall, scaled the ivy and jumped down the other side with a swift thud. Abbas soon followed and under shadows, the boys navigated the city till they reached their destination.

Jon placed his hands on his hips as they walked the steep stairs towards the Al-Mahal mosque, the only one in the capital that stood stark against the various other polytheistic temples. “Why are we here again?”

Abbas tsked peevishly, “Because I _want_ to be here. You can leave if you want El.”

Jon bristled, he hated when his friend retorted like this, it was a warning, ‘off limits territory, don’t ask! In the beginning Jon understood Abbas’s reluctance to talk about his past, he was after all an ex-slave acquired during wartime, it was natural to be traumatized by such events but as the months progressed, the Kryptonian was growing impatient and hurt by his friend’s secrets. What was the point with sharing and bonding when the other half of the equation refused to offer up even the barest scraps of information?

For Rao sakes, it took nearly three months to learn Abbas’s last name! Jon had enough, “Oh come off it Abbas! What is so hard about telling me why we’re here? What harm could it possibly do?”

He didn’t like to raise his voice but at this point, he hadn’t a care for decorum.

The other boy halted in his stride, turning to face the prince with fire in his eyes, a glower as deadly as poison “Cease your infernal whining or I’ll silence you by ripping out your tongue.”

Jon glared at Abbas, his own fire blazing he refused to back down or off, “It takes great fortitude and strength to be vulnerable. Only the fickle spirited keep their voices silent. You’re a coward, and I’ve had enough of it.”

He pulled his hood back on and strode down the steps never looking back, regretting nothing of what he said.

____________________________

He kept true to his word; he stayed away and occupied his time with other activities. When asked or teased by his siblings in regards to the argument, he vaguely alluded to it as a spat over sharing.

It was disappointing; it pained his heart to feel that he was inadequate in some way that marked him as an unsuitable keeper of confidences.

Even though he strived to keep his mind engaged during the day, at night he was preyed upon by nightmares that resulted in more than a few insomniac episodes.

In time, he supposed he’d get over the failed friendship and move on with his life, but Rao did it hurt.

____________________________

He was catching butterflies for Anora when a familiar figure appeared under one of the pomegranate trees watching him.

He made a point to ignore the hand, venturing further amongst the shrubbery to seek his prize.

“M-my mother was Muslim and she always used to say that wherever I was, if there was a mosque I would always find refuge from my troubles.”

Jon paused but otherwise he pointedly ignored the boy until he suddenly felt a hard object hit his head with a resounding smack.

He turns in surprise only to catch another hit in the shoulder blade making him yelp in fright but when darting his eyes down to see what got him he noticed the splatter of red and momentarily panicked thinking he’d been pierced by an arrow but at closer inspection, he realized it was the juice of a pomegranate.

Panic gave way to anger as he looked up at Abbas with fiery sky blue irises, “Are you mad?! What---HEY—S-TOP IT!”

A repetitive barrage of fruit came at him in near perfect precision, and the prince could do nothing but dodge, bob and weave to the best of his combat training to get at the other boy. It was an ongoing food war as Jon would occasionally grab the thrown artillery in mid-air and return fire, which didn’t find its target as accurately, but he still managed to disorientate the other off his game.

The boys battled it out until Jon landed a hit square in Abbas’s chest that made the stable hand hiss when the juice splashed in his eye.

Smirking, the Kryptonian charged and collided with the boy, both rolling and smacking each other till the energy burned out and they collapsed beside one another huffing and puffing.

The silence floated between them like the clouds over head and Jon closed his eyelids as he inhaled the scents of the garden, the potent sweet wine fragrance of the fruit that stained his clothes and skin. He absentmindedly lifted the back of his hand and licked it like a cat.

“I...I’m sorry. For what I said, it was out of place...if you don’t want to be friends anymore I understand.”

Jon quirked his brow at that but stayed silent, he turned his head slightly and took in Abbas’s profile, the way in which the shade and light outlined his fine features and bounced off his emerald eyes like jewels.

A strange tingling shot through the young prince, unfamiliar and confounding, he suddenly felt nervous and self-conscious whence before he never experienced such peculiarity before in his life.

Swallowing the feeling down, taking a moment to compose his heart rate he exhaled slowly before speaking.

“Yes... _well_ , I’m sorry for what I said too. I still would like to be friends...if that’s okay with you...?”

He cringed at the timid uncertainty in his voice but gave no indication of that on his face, at least he hoped.

Abbas turned his face to lock eyes with Jon and the prince had to clench at the buttons on his shirt to keep himself from doing something he’d regret.

The boy, seemingly unaware of the dilemma he invoked in the Kryptonian, grinned in a barely visible way that made Jon’s eyes flutter involuntarily.

“I would like that Jon. Very much.”

____________________________

He was in a state of utter despondence. He walked the palace halls in a clouded haze of disillusionment and vivid daydreams, which were interfering with his studies and combat training. Last week he’d almost poked his eye out and was nearly catapulted by his horse because he’d unwittingly spurred the poor creature with the heel of his riding boots.

After careful observations from his family, his father and mother took him aside to inquire as to his lack of concentration. Overhearing the interrogation, his eldest siblings shared amused looks as they saw how Jon squirmed in his seat and his cheeks turned cherry red. Anora sighed as she closed her manuscript and rose from her seat by the window, gliding over towards her parents, “Papa, Mama is it not obvious? Jonathan is in the throes of his first infatuation.”

Instantly Kal-El and Lois silenced at their daughter’s statement, eyes widening slightly in confusion. Jon looked up at his sister with the same look but tinted with a trim of worry. Zachary rolled his eyes and Conner tittered, the second eldest popped a grape in his mouth, “Oh come now Anora, _‘throes’_? You’ve been indulging on too many over-dramatic romances. Our dear baby brother is experiencing his first crush, that’s hardly a reason to cause alarm.”

Jon blinked at Zach’s revised explanation but still felt his mind struggling to understand the extent of what it meant, “C-crush?” he murmured timidly, Conner was next to speak as he leaned over their dining table and smiled sympathetically. “Jonny, Zach is referring to liking someone in a...how to put it, non-friendly way...? Or I suppose you could say a romantic way like Papa and Mama... _somewhat_.”

At this point Anora and Zachary chuckled away as they listened to their elder brother’s poorly enunciated explanation to which Conner then looked towards his parents with a hopeless shrug. The two royals shared a soft and tender look and then they rose and instructed Jon to follow suit, Lois walked over to her three older children and gave them hugs and kisses, “I think that’s all for tonight my Loves, hurry to your beds now.”

Kal-El led his youngest to his bedchamber in a comfortable silence, careful in his steps and demeanor wanting not to give off an aura of unease to his already anxiously troubled son.

Entering into the room, helping Jon change into his nightclothes and then tucking him into bed, though Jon was getting at that age where he expressed his displeasure at being babied, today he welcomed it without complaint.

He needed reassurance and comfort which Kal-El was more than happy to oblige.

As the two lay side by side, Jon under the covers and his father on top, they looked up at the puckered robin’s egg blue canopy, sheer and thin which made it ideal for humid summer nights.

“It’s nothing to fret over son. Everyone goes through this in their lives, it’s a part of growing up, growing wiser and more compassionate towards others.”

The young prince wanted to smile, wanted to feel relieved and not like his insides were suffocating him.

Gulping, trying to keep the waver in his voice level and tears at bay he whispered, “E-even if...if it’s not a girl...?”

That admission had the monarch’s eyes glow with surprise, for he’d been privy to the phobic tendencies of his father and grandfather when he was a boy growing up. He’d seen first-hand the damage such a toxic prejudice wrecked on its victims.

When he became an adult, he can remember once receiving a love letter from a secret admirer and through careful sleuthing discovered its author was a childhood schoolmate who’d held a torch for him since they’d met.

The revelation of such a love took Kal-El for a loop and slight panic, not necessarily because he feared social repercussions but for the reason that he could not reciprocate his friend’s feelings and felt bad for it.

He’d meant to say something understanding and gentle but ended up losing his nerve and literally ran from his problems.

The memory of that poorly handled situation still twisted him up inside because he recalls afterward his childhood friend dropping out of school and later joining the army only to die in Kabul by way of suicide. That had been a great blow to his soul that doused him in a thick depression for some months afterward. He grew obsessed over the what ifs and countless scenarios he could’ve used if only as a feeble attempt to temper the flame of guilt that burned him to the bone.

It was only when he’d slowly worked through the stages of grief and learned to forgive himself and when he’d met Lois that he finally made peace with circumstances he could not control nor was truly responsible for.

Often it played through his mind as he rocked and lulled his infant children to sleep, what would he say, how would he react now that he was older and wiser.

Lying beside his youngest, his baby boy and feeling the tremor vibrating through his small boy next to him, well...he knew instantly in that moment the answer.

Kal-El turned towards his son, grabbed him gently in a warm embrace and kissed his mop of raven hair.

“You have nothing to feel embarrassed nor ashamed of my Sunshine. Whatever happens, I will always, _always_ love you---we all will. Till death.”

Jon nuzzled and burrowed deep within his father’s embrace as he wept and soaked in the rays of contentment.

____________________________

Colors and music took on a brighter and more expressive hilt. He found himself noticing acute details in Abbas’s person and committed them to memory like a scientist that studies intently the microscopic features of an insect.

He discovered small aspects of Abbas’s personality that he relished and would often dream about. His breathless and windy laughter when any of the animals would razz him, the softness that overtook his demeanor when he talked to the beasts, the way he murmured his prayers in his ethnic tongue. It was swift, delicate and refined to the ear and Jon had secretly been teaching himself how to speak Arabic in hopes it would impressive the stable hand. He found that he thought of nothing else but the handsome boy, he indulged his friend more often then he’d ever done before, placated his moodiness with smiles and treats he’d swipe from the kitchen reserved for the royal family only.

Whatever Abbas asked or alluded to something of interest he would try to accomplish it, he was wrapped around his friend’s finger and happily, he was satisfied to remain.

As these feelings grew so did the impending desire to confess and hope for a favorable outcome. Oh he was well aware that it could end in him falling into a deep hole of despair or worse Abbas running away and never coming back but he resolved that it was better to have loved then to have never loved at all.

He was the son of Kal-El; he would not allow uncertainty be his crutch in life.

The plan was to confess while they stargazed on the roof of the corral, per Jon’s request. Abbas, suspecting nothing rolled his eyes at the prince but with a glint of fondness, he accepted the invitation and they arranged to meet past ten.

Lying against the tiles and peering up at the vast wealth of stars made Jon beam and his body lax with weightlessness, as if he were floating. He looked over at Abbas’s face as he rattled off about the various constellations. He looked so alive and his lips were so inviting...

“That is Hydrus, ‘The Water Snake’ and that over there is---”

Abbas froze as a pair of soft, warm lips were placed upon his, taking his voice with them. In that split second he forgot himself, his brain malfunctioned and he remained as stone under the prince’s body.

Sensing something amiss, Jon removed himself from his friend and inwardly cursed himself for the brash action. _‘It was supposed to be confession first then kiss...!’_

There was no coming back from it; Jon took a breath, “I asked you up here tonight to confess that I-I _like_ you Abbas.”

A beat passed between the two boys, and Jon’s heart began to quiver, his palms were perspiring and he was feeling queasy in the pit of his stomach.

Abbas merely looked up at the stars but the Kryptonian could see the vivid blush on his tanned cheeks and slight shaking in his emerald eyes.

Jon frowned as he sat up and hunched over his knees, “I...I’m...I’m sorry, I just—I had hoped...well never mind. G-goodnight Abbas.”

He didn’t give the other boy a chance to move or speak, he was off the roof in a millisecond and running towards the palace when suddenly he heard rapid footsteps behind him, “Jo-Jonathan, Jon wait...!”

The prince slowed down to a final stop but he didn’t look around, fearing he would see only guilty pity in those precious stone eyes he’d grown to love.

“Y-yes...?” he could hear the labored breathing between them and then he felt a calloused hand grab his, spin him around and come face to face with Abbas, his bashful posture made Jon’s soul swell.

“I...I wanted to say... _me too_.”

The prince blinked once, twice, thrice, “ _You_... _too_...? You mean--”

Abbas blushed harder as he stared daggers at the dirt, “Yes you _imbecilic_ — _< tt>_ yes...I _l-like_ you too.”

In that moment, Jon felt as though his heart would burst out his ribcage, he felt stupendous and invincible as if nothing could hurt him.

He giggled, actually giggled and then he lunged forward taking the stable hand in a bear hug and swinging him around to the other’s utter indignation until Abbas’s repeated smacking made the prince put him down.

Under the indigo diamond sky, to the hush of the oil lantern lights swaying in the midsummer breeze of the courtyard the two boy shared a shy and tentative kiss.

____________________________

“Jonathan, I demand you tell me where you are leading me.”

Jon rolled his eyes and stifled a laugh at Abbas, after the first caw of the rooster Jon had stolen away the hand as he was finishing his morning chores. He told him he had a surprise but that it was a secret and that he had to be blindfolded. The other reluctantly agreed and so here they were, Jon led them through the many corridor tunnels till he reached a slab of stone and with a firm push he opened it.

Quickly sweeping his eyes over the premises and seeing that the coast was clear he pulled Abbas through the passage, closed it and then continued with Abbas’s hand firmly in his until he found what he sought.

Walking behind his beau’s back, untying the blindfold he murmured into his ear, “Alright...ready?”

“ _< tt>_ I suppose.”

Jon’s eyes twinkled, he swiftly removed the cloth, “Okay...look.”

Blinking the blackness from his vision, Abbas’s eyes took in the sight before him and refrained from gasping. It was immense, open and wall to wall, there were scrolls and manuscripts, embraced by intricately decorated cursive trimming that he knew all too well.

“In the BC period, when Krypton was ruled by Ara-Lin-Jor the First, a great Queen and scholar she established this place in honor of her right hand General and loyal friend, Hakim Al-Radii, a Muslim.”

Abbas’s eyes widened as he listened and he turned to look at Jon who stood off a ways, hands clasped behind his back as his sky blue eyes traveled over the building as he spoke.

“It’s the oldest surviving mosque in antiquity, before Queen Ara-Lin-Jor died, she specified that her descendants and those of General Hakim be the overseers of the mosque and for decades it served its purpose until the last of their kin died and so it was made into a great library, the Rao Library.”

Jon then rushed pasted a stunned Abbas, who followed, “J-Jon...wait!”

The prince was speed-reading through various title seals, nook by nook until he found them, medium sized bundles, tied neatly by linen cloth, snapping one open, Jon shook the iron cylinder until the parchments slipped out into his waiting palm.

He carefully unraveled the scrolls, Abbas sitting next to him with intrigue in his eyes. “من الفعل والنتيجة _(Of Action and Consequence)_ , الحمام في مهب الريح _(Doves in the Wind)_ , شعر الحكيم _(The Poetry of Hakim)*_...chronicles upon chronicles of classic writings...”

Jon smiles at Abbas’s fascination, “ _I am white as light, floating on the wind, I dream of the moon and in the day my love greets me with a soft coo that is like music divine. My love is not like me but a creature of the earth. Their skin is brilliantine and sheen as metal, eyes as expressive as the seasons and they speak in hisses. Our romance is a forbidden one, a dangerous one for nature dictates us two enemies, but when I gaze at their face, I see only love reflected back. I will give my life if my sacrifice grants them the power of flight in the afterlife, then and only then would we two be together forever. Two doves in the wind._ ”

“A lovely sentiment...albeit verbose but....” Abbas trailed off when he caught sight of Jon’s incredulous look, diverting his eyes and swallowing his awkwardness, he continued to read the scrolls.

“Papa says writing is laced with moral lessons, life truths and that one without a history is akin to living without a soul.”

Abbas did not acknowledge the prince, “The _King_ seems a man quite pleased with the sound of his own voice.”

Jon frowned at the biting statement, “What are you implying exactly?”

The stable hand paused, blinked and then shrugged, “I-I apologize Jon...I was thinking of my own father...I barely knew him before...well...”

Instantly the ire fizzled and he felt his heart ache for his beau as he sagged his shoulders in an attempt to appear small.

Removing the pendant from his neck, Jon dangled it in front of the boy who looked at it curiously as the Kryptonian dropped it into his hands.

“I had it crafted for you. Whenever you are in need of sanctuary and solace or you wish to nourish your mind...that pendant will serve as your map.”

Emerald eyes glinted in an odd way but all Jon cared about was the faint grin on Abbas’s lips.

____________________________

An internal shock woke Jon from his slumber and he shot up in bed, taking a moment to scan his room. The cool chill unsettling as it seeped in his bones, something felt off as his heart palpitated rapidly against his chest and he felt an uncontrollable numbness in his limbs. As he made to get up to seek his parents, he felt a sharpness at the high middle between his shoulder blades.

His breath hitched as the intruder increased the pressure making him hiss, the voice drifted into his ear, “On your feet, no sudden moves or I will run you through before you can blink.”

Jon’s mind instantly sobered out of the dreariness, he knew that voice, despite the muffle, he _knew that voice...!_

Eyes widening, he dared to speak, “A-Abbas...what---”

A tsk answered him as he was shoved to the ground harshly, turning swiftly he was greeted to a sword in his face, and he flinched when a sword was thrown on the ground.

The eyes that glared down at him weren’t the eyes he knew, these were blunt and sinister. The boy was clad in fitted black armor, Arabic in design with an Asian silhouette; he had a facemask on and pulled it down to reveal his cruel lips.

“Pick up your weapon Prince; we fight to your death.”

Staggering to his feet with the sword in his limp hand, Jon was reeling, what was happening? Was this some kind of nightmare?

“Abbas... _Abbas_ what are you—what are you doing? I demand to know what this is!”

‘Abbas’ scoffed as he moved in a subtle smooth circling way, never taking his eyes off frightened sky blue ones.

“Oh how naive you are, for someone well versed in history, you surely are aloof.”

The boy smirked devilishly, “There never was an ‘Abbas’, only Damian Al Ghul Wayne—crown Prince of Gotham.”

Jon’s eyes widened, the blood drained from his face, he remembered his father often discussing such a kingdom. It was a modest provincial civilization on the other side of the country, kept to itself but had a tenacious manner. The king was rumored to operate under the cover of night, underhandedly and without warning towards any minimal threat or offence. It was a rough and problematic kingdom that had been a nuisance but nothing more.

Jon tightened his grip but he still couldn’t bring himself to raise it against this boy, this boy whom he loved.

He attempted to approach the dark prince but only received a swift swipe of steel that managed to slice the side of his arm, he yelped as another blow came but he deflected.

He continued to defend, deflect, tried to keep his footing as he yelled, “A-b—Damian---please, please st-stop--! I don’t wan—I don’t want to fight you!”

Tears were flowing down Jon’s cheeks and that only served to ignite the ire in Damian as he charged with gusto and unmitigated rage, “Pathetic! Fight like a warrior!”

Jon’s mind was racing as he was trying to figure out a way to escape and then he tripped up, falling with a loud thud, he barely spun out of a mighty blow that shattered the floor tiles.

Damian abandoned the sword and dashed at Jon with a dagger, jumping on him and repeatedly attempted to land a fatal hit but was deflected by Jon’s flaying hands, which received severe cuts and slices. The blood was making it difficult for the Kryptonian to gain a firm hold on the other’s wrist but he thought fast and managed to throw a growing pool of blood at Damian’s face and blind him, which allowed him to kick the boy off him.

When Damian regained his sight, he realized Jon was nowhere in sight and he growled, “You cowardly dog!”

“Why are you doing this?” it was echoing, the room was big enough for it, the dark prince looked around as he walked about.

“Listen Kryptonian. _Listen_.”

Jon moved as quietly as he could, utilizing the shadows and as he did his ears picked up sounds, distant and faint at first but then...then they amplified tenfold. His panicked eyes looked towards the veranda window and what he saw froze his soul.

The plumes of gray and black smoke, red and orange flames bleeding into the cloudless sky and the screaming—the wails of his people, of his civilization. He suddenly felt sick and willed himself not to retch.

As if sensing Jon’s shock, Damian continued to speak “You hear it? That is the sound of your empire burning to the ground. It is the punctuated end of a corrupt kingdom finally paying for its sins against humanity...and you made it all possible Jon.”

Jon sucks in a shuddered breath at that and he shakes his head, “N-no...NO! You lie—you are---”

“ _NO?_ Who was it that showed and lead me through the hidden corridors and tunnels of the palace and city fortress?”

Jon’s eyes shook; he could feel the memories flash through his mind.

“Who was the one that shared the intricate schedule of guardianship of the perimeters of the palace walls?”

Jon stumbled, he quickly tried to move but fell which exposed him to Damian who rushed him, and this time stabbed him in his shoulder, twisting the knife making the prince yell in pain.

The Gothamite leaned only mere inches from Jon’s face, marveled at the crystalline tears spilling over his bloodied cheeks and ivory skin sleeked with sweat.

“Oh and how could I forget your most valuable piece of real estate—the Rao Library. _‘One without their history is akin to living without a soul’_...you are quite right in that regard.”

Jon grimaced, staring disbelievingly into vicious emerald irises, “As I speak, all your history burns...the Kryptonian civilization will never grace the pages of scroll nor lip again. You will die and be forgotten forever.”

In a final assault, Damian plunged his dagger into Jon’s chest, which made the prince shutter and gasp wetly as he went limp.

The Gothamite stood and took the oil lamps in the room, soaking the bed and linens before flicking a match and momentarily watching the magnificent blaze take wing under the breezy winds.

He sauntered out the room, sheathing his weapons in the process and leaving Jon to burn.

____________________________

He awoke with an agonized scream, perspiring and feverish, as he attempted to move he realized quickly the severity of his injuries. It was like lightening shooting up and down his entire body. Blurrily glancing around the room, he found that he was in a hut, modest and quaint. The faint smell of wet grass and manure alerted him to the fact that he was on farmland or on an estate with animals.

“Easy, easy your Majesty...be calm. You are badly wounded.”

The voice made Jon blink and then he finally was able to make sense of the blob sitting by his bedside. It was Thaddeus, the sight of his weathered face and kind eyes made Jon instantly break down and he cried miserable tears as the octogenarian tried and failed to comfort him.

Raggedly breathing, Jon tried to speak, “H-How long h-have I been here?”

Thaddeus was changing out the basin of reddish water and refilling it with clean water; he was also grinding various herbs and plants into a paste to apply as healing balm to Jon’s injuries. The old man frowned, a troubled cloud overcasting his eyes, “When I found you my Prince, the flames had been licking your flesh...I worked as fast as I could. Between dousing most of the fire enough to work, I replaced your body with one of another boy’s...similar in height and age, consumed by flame in his bed but intact enough to move. I mimicked the wounds on your body the best I could, so as to not cause suspicion.”

Jon’s mouth was gaping like a fish and the utter confusion in his eyes made the ex-stable master chuckle. “I am more than a mere stable master My Liege I have been in the service of the El House for many years and I have done a great deal in the name of loyalty.”

For once in his life, Jon did not ask questions, he simply kept quiet and listened.

Through Thaddeus, Jon learned that while he was seemingly dying, the city and people burned to oblivion and any leftover were rounded up and executed. The Rao Library was no more than a memory and his family...his family were captured and being held in cells awaiting execution. The military were grounded to dust and General Hal Jordan, seeing no victory and refusing to be captured, took his own life by falling on his sword.

Jon had been in a deep and delirious state since then. Under disguise, Thaddeus had been sneaking in and out of the captured palace, posing as a Gothamite guard collecting intel. He told Jon that on one of the first days that his family were taken before King Bruce that they brought in the charred corpse of ‘Jon’ and he watched as his family screamed, wailed and raged at his death. He said it made his blood run cold as he watched his proud father weep miserably on top of the body, muttering incoherent Kryptonese and begging for mercy for the remainder of his kin.

He then spoke with a darkness in his features, of the way the royal Gothamites peered at his family in an almost intriguing manner, the way their eyes caught the light like glass, lifeless and cold. The disgusting self-righteous attitude of the king and arrogance in which he justified his action to wage a siege through clever espionage by way of his youngest son, Damian. The night raids conducted by his other children in the outskirts of the empire to garner support from those who just as soon see Krypton burn then defend a civilization that did little to protect them.

Jon could feel the bile rising in his throat but he forced it down for he had little in his stomach to expel except acid.

Thaddeus looked at him with a profound sadness and knelt by his cot, head hung low, “My Prince, forgive my lacking diligence, the boy was under my roof for months and I never suspected a thing. I have failed you in the worst possible way, it is my---”

“No Thaddeus. It is not your fault...t’was mine. I am the one that befriended the snake, I am the one that brought it into my home...my heart and I alone am responsible for the destruction of my family.”

The old man peered up at the boy, his heart bleeding for him, for the Kryptonian legacy, for the past in which he lived and the future generations that would never know.

____________________________

It took Jon nearly four weeks to heal enough that he could move around; he thanked his natural rapid healing, as it was a staple of his genes. He still coughed bloodied phlegm but Thaddeus assured him it was all in due process of his lungs repairing themselves.

Though his family may be in the mist of torture and possible death, the prince couldn’t help how his heart ached, how his soul mourned the love he’d developed for the Gothamite prince. His nights were an array of lucid erotic fantasies that always ended with Damian killing him or his family members and he’d wake up shaking drenched in sweat, semen and blood from unconsciously scratching at his wounds.

As he grew stronger, he repeatedly begged Thaddeus to take him along on his intel excursions and the old man adamantly denied him every time.

The anxiety surrounding his family’s impending fate racked his mind relentlessly; he began to devise half-baked plans of escape for them, of inciting riots large enough to overthrow the usurpers from power.

He nearly went mad with such thoughts until Thaddeus came home one night, gloomier than usual with the gravest news.

Next week they began the ‘trials’ of the El House.

____________________________

Unable to deny the prince any longer, Thaddeus agreed to bring Jon along, if only to set eyes on his family for the last time. The boy has been thrusted into utter inequity, to shield him from the ugliness of reality would do more harm than good and knowing Kal-El, as much as he tried to shelter his children, he too knew that inevitably they would need to learn how to fend against evils beyond their control.

Looking at the cloaked lad huddled behind him, his heart dropped; he prays the prince will stay strong for what is to come.

Standing amongst a crowd of treacherous onlookers, Gothamite guards and soldiers sets Jon’s heckles high and alert. He could feel the persistent shaking in his limps as he stood next to Thaddeus waiting with his heart in his throat.

“Bring out the prisoners!”

The rabble stirred and one by one, each of his family member trailed in, chained together looking beaten and weak.

They were forced to face the stairwell leading into the palace, the same grand entrance where not even months prior, he stood tall and thrilled to greet his father and the army after their victory over Blüdhaven.

Out walked the Gotham royals, clad in their black and signature colored armor, standing resolute and astute, a pantheon of mortal gods.

The King of this regime, Bruce Wayne stepped forth, his obsidian hair neat and slick, distinguished scars barely visible to the naked eye and icy blue irises as sharp as the saber he wielded to his hip.

He looked down at the fallen Kryptonian King, “Raise your head Kal-El, son of Jor-El.”

Jon watched his father pause and then lift his head with the inherent nobleness of his birthright, even in his pitiful state; he was a lion standing against his enemies.

Bruce held Kal-El’s eyes, scaling them from head to toe, “Your reign has come to an end.”

Kal-El’s irises swirled, “Not on fair standing. Not honorably.”

The Gothamite glared, “Your disregard of law and order is the reason you kneel in chains today! Had you any reputable backbone, you could have writ the wrongs of your corrupted sham of a democracy but you choose blissful ignorance!”

Kal-El’s eyes never wavered, “You are right in that regard; I spared the rod and allowed spoil to run my kingdom. I tried to instill mandates and laws that went ignored to a point. You must understand I chose a path of pacifism because of the rumors...surely you’ve heard.”

Bruce frowned deeper, “Yes...the _‘berserker blood’_. The sole reason _you_ say...I am skeptical however.”

Kal-El cracked a rueful grin, “Not many do, until they witness it. If I ruled under the influence of that primal mindset...I wonder...would you still have laid waste to my kingdom?”

Bruce kept silent, Kal-El kept his knowing grin, “ _Yes_ , you would have because you’re a power hungry tyrant bent on ultimate power and control, what better prize to solidify your undisputable reign then to conquer one if not _the_ longest reigning civilization known to man?”

The crowd erupted in loud whispering and heckles which bristled the Gothamite King; he glowered as the Kryptonian kept his eyes straight and undeterred.

Suddenly a loud smack had Kal-El falling on his side as his face began to bleed. Lois lunged to shield her husband’s fallen form, “Kal!”

The one to deliver the blow was the youngest prince, Damian “Insolent cur, you will do well to show some respect!”

Seeing the face of his nightmares set a fire in Jon’s loins and soul that infuriated and shamed him, he felt a firm grip on his clenched fist and looked up at Thaddeus’s somber face. He set a disapproving look upon the prince, which only served to temper the flames of his ire.

Lois, in her teary desperation pressed her cheek to Kal-El’s injured one, doing her best to wipe the blood so it would not blind his eyes. The Kryptonian King, after reassuring his wife that he could right himself, set his sights on Damian, eyes glistening from the throbbing pain of the whip, “Y-You...were Jon’s friend...he used to speak of you with great affection...”

The dark prince scoffed, “Your _unfortunate_ son was a moon-eyed fool. It was like taking candy from an infant. He laid the keys to your kingdom in the palm of my hand un-coaxed... foolish.”

Lois spoke next, quieter but very clearly, tears stained her cheeks “He trusted you... _loved_ you....”

Damian’s emerald eyes remained dull and emotionless, “That was his mistake.”

“Damian, enough. Back in line.” Bruce only tilted his head and the young boy obeyed, sauntering back to his place.

Bruce spared the family one last look and then spoke, “Kal-El, son of Jor-El and _last_ King of Krypton, you have been found guilty of negligence of the highest offence against humanity. The sentence is death.”

“B-Bruce, I have asked you once and you did not reply, I will ask you again—please have mercy on my remaining family, they have no hand in my actions nor will they be---”

“I cannot take that risk Kal, they will always be a threat and unlike you, I take care of my loose ends.”

Azure eyes shook with disbelief and hopelessness, he spared a glance at his remaining children, the way in which they bravely held their heads high and exalted. His heart swelled and throbbed for them, his babies...his legacy.

“Your Majesty...if it would not be to presumptuous, may we have one last night and morning...as a family...?”

The Gothamite royals turned their heads towards the third eldest, Anora...her stature humbled and demure.

She raised her head and looked Bruce in the eye but nothing in her face spoke of deceit, nor fear.

He blinked at her, his taciturnity unbroken; his eyes moved back to Kal-El, “Your request is granted.”

With that, he turned and silently, along with his familial entourage walked into the decimated palace.

The crowd dispersed and Thaddeus dragged Jon away wordlessly.

____________________________

As the sun rose, so did the earth and inhabitants...the Gothamites had their breakfast, supervised the building of the stage and by ten were ready for the executions.

The crowd, once more gathered, talking and gawking with morbid fascination and curiosity in their eyes. Off a ways, hidden by their hoods, Thaddeus and Jon stood in reverence.

The doors to the palace opened, out walked King Bruce and his family, seated and awaiting the first execution.

Richard Grayson Wayne, the first Crowned Prince spoke “Bring forth the first prisoner!”

The doors to the dungeon creaked open and out walked Anora, lovely and dressed in the gown she’d been captured in, a simple plum colored garment. Her thick and lustrous raven locks were fashioned in a braid, her skin ashen but still beautiful. Jon dug his nails into his palms to keep himself tight-lipped.

As she walked the scaffold, she kept her eyes forward and when facing the gallery of Gothamites, she smiled defiantly, relaxed her shoulders back, akin to a swan folding its wings, knelt down and leaned forward, her neck prostrate. She never broke contact, kept her dignity and never flinched when the axe came down.

“Next!”

The quiet was disrupted by boisterous singing of the Kryptonese anthem, crisp and poignant as the two princes walked the steps to the block; the uproarious chatter began and Jon, despite the situation covered his mouth to muffle his wobbly laughter. Like their sister, they stood tall, smiled, knelt and lay their necks out sharing a look between each other as the axe came down.

After getting the crowd to settle, the executions continued. “Next!”

Lois walked out, serenity personified, hands clasped in front of her. As she ascended the stairs, and then stood in front of the rabble, she smiled as her children did before her—decorous, cheeky and shrewd.

Jon bit hard on his lip and instantly tasted blood but he swallowed it, willed his screams down as he watched his mother kneel and lay her neck out. With a swift chop, she was gone.

Jon could feel the numbness in his limps, the needle pricks were excruciating but he had to stay strong, he had to last long enough to see his father.

“Next!”

As Kal-El walked out into the light, he paused as he basked in the sun and then he walked up the scaffold two steps at a time.

He peered down at the block, it was still sleek with his family’s blood, and he smiled as he imagined it must be warm like an embrace.

Looking up and over the sea of people, Kal-El spared a look at the Gothamite royals siting in their nest smug and superior. He pitied them.

Kneeling, shoulders back, Jon’s heart stopped as the axe went up and swore that time stopped in the milliseconds that past before it unfroze and all he saw was the headless torso of his father.

In that moment, Jon-El “Jonathan” of Krypton, son of King Kal-El and Queen Lois Lane was no more.

Not a prince. Not a Kryptonian. He was dead burning to ash like the bodies of his kin on the pyre.


	2. Trials and Tribulations

**DO NOT REPOST. DO NOT EDIT. DO NOT REBLOG.**

**Disclaimer** : I DO NOT OWN THE DC FRANCHISE OR ANY AFFILIATES.

**Copyright © 2020 Antonia G. Reyes All Rights Reserved.**

**Trigger Warning** : Slavery, abuse, pedophilia (Consensual underage) mentioned

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_"We cannot always control everything that happens to us in this life, but we can control how we respond."_

**_L. Lionel Kendrick_ **

**Chapter 2** : Trials and Tribulations

It was strange to exist in a world alone. To be the last of a race and culture, to be the last of a dynasty. It had been two weeks since the public demise of his family and Jon still struggled with it, the sheer reality of his situation seemed an utterly absurd concept, a twisted fairytale lore that once he reached the end would disappear like a nightmare.

However, Jon had done nothing but sleep long and deep, vain attempts to rewrite the story but each time he awoke, he’s reminded constantly that the nightmare is here to stay and he can do nothing to abate it.

He wept like a babe, whatever he did or was tasked to do he cried, he tears flowed as freely as waterfalls but he did not wail and scream, he refused the Heavens humility as and Hades the satisfaction. No, he was stoic and withdrawn as his face burned and eyes turned puffy red.

His heart throbbed and he yearned for gentleness, kindness...sympathy, empathy... _love_. Thaddeus bless him tried but he was an emotionally awkward man, the most he mustered was a lingering pat on the head or shoulders, a soft look across the table as they ate meagerly. Regardless Jon was grateful to him, glad to have at least one truly loyal compatriot by his side.

____________________________

Life as a stable hand wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Jon didn’t have the luxury of choice nor opinion. It was hard, unforgiving work; he commended Thaddeus for committing to such a masquerade.

As he brushed the coarse mane of the horses in the corrals, he wrestled with the depression that hung off him like his shadow, he struggled with suicidal thoughts which whispered and enticed him like siren songs on rocky waves.

“BOY!” Jon jumped and dropped the brush spooking the skittish stallion, a loud nay making him wince.

The next thing he knew, he’s being pulled by the collar like a rag doll, “Stop your daydreaming and feed the sows! What do I pay your uncle for if not to work? _Useless!_ ” Mr. Thatcher, the estate overseer, was a boorish, crude man that just as soon turn his own mother in if she had a bounty on her head then show the smallest bit of compassion.

Jon avoided him at all costs but unfortunately, the man was also an insufferable micro-manager.

The hand in training rubbed the nape of his neck, hissing when he felt the stinging and pulling his fingers away, feeling the fresh scrapes.

Huffing, he set to work gathering slop and scraps for the pigs and made sure to refill the horse stalls with fresh hay.

____________________________

“Is the soup to your liking _Eleazar_?” Jon smiled faintly at the old man, “Yes _Uncle Thaddeus_ ”. The two looked at each other in silence before cracking up, weeks before Jon started working, they’d weaved a convincing backstory sprinkled with vague truths on how the octogenarian came to acquire him. He was now Eleazar Kent, youngest son of his ‘sister’. During the siege of Krypton and the neighboring provinces, his family were killed and he was the sole survivor. Making sure his daughter was all right in the capital, Thaddeus had noticed the boy wandering in a daze in the streets and thus instantly adopted him.

They practiced and practiced addressing each other by their new monikers, improvise scenarios, working to assimilate Jon into a new identity, get him comfortable in his new skin.

Soon enough it became almost an inside joke between them, as they returned to an easy silence, Thaddeus suddenly remembered what he’d wanted to tell the boy.

“I wanted to let you know that in three weeks’ time we shall bid this place farewell. I’ve accrued us new positions in the southeastern city of Al-Sufjan.” He stood and cleared his side of the table, walking towards the kitchen, laying a firm hand on Jon’s shoulder, his eyes soft and reassuring, hopeful, “A new name. A new life. A new city—the best thing to mend the wounds of the past. You’ll see.”

The former prince looked up at him with doubt but seeing the sincerity and conviction in his friend’s eyes made Jon break into a tiny smirk. He patted Thaddeus’s wrinkled, calloused hand “If you say it is so, what can I do but trust you.”

Thaddeus grinned and tittered lowly as they finished cleaning up.

____________________________

Jon had just finished changing the horseshoes and nailing in new ones when he was called, “Kent!” An instant sour expression crossed his face, Colin Wilkes. A thorn in Jon’s side the moment Thaddeus got him settled in this position.

He slowly rose and patted the steed who huffed and shook his head in the direction of Colin, the orphan snorted, “I share your feeling my friend, be good while I see what our _dear_ Wilkes needs.”

As he left the stall, the redhead had just walked up to the entrance of the corrals, he wore an uppity smirk on his lips and his hazel eyes shined with mischief. Jon set his face in a neutral expression, “Yes Co---”

Colin arched a condescending brow; Jon took in a breath and clasped his hands behind his back, trying his best not to roll his eyes, “Yes _Mr. Wilkes_ , what can I do for you?”

Colin hummed, “Mr. Thatcher had doubled your work load starting now---”

Jon frowned, “What? But, I---”

The redhead glared, stepping into the other’s space standing tall and pushing out his chest trying to appear menacing, Jon did not want to shrink away like a scared dog, but Thaddeus was counting on him to maintain a meek presence and not draw attention to himself. He pursed his lips, stepped back with slumped shoulders, and bowed head, “I apologize Mr. Wilkes, but I’m just confused as to why _suddenly_ I’m being given more work when I’ve been satisfactory in my current duties.”

Mr. Wilkes relaxed his body, tilting his head matter-of-factly, “There doesn’t have to be a reason Kent. If Sim—Mr. Thatcher tasks you with more work, you do it. Oh, and that reminds me, he’s also docked your wages from 6 dallions to 4 for last week’s confrontation.”

Jon’s eyes widened, “ _‘Confrontation’_? What---do you mean when he berated me for doing my job?”

Colin’s eyes narrowed, “For laziness---”

Jon could feel the fire bubble up and he scowled, “Ridiculous! I was doing my job and he deliberately came into the corrals to disrupt my work!”

Mr. Wilkes growled, fists balling up, “Watch your tongue you---”

Jon, too angry and far-gone leveled his glower on the redhead, “Or what _Colin_? You going to go weep to your _‘Lord Simon’_ to kiss your wounded ego?”

Colin’s face burned bright red, his freckles darkening under the heat of his embarrassment, Jon smirked triumphantly, it was no secret that _married_ overseer Simon Thatcher was sharing Colin Wilkes’ bed. He was the man’s freed ex-slave promoted ‘assistant overseer’, not only that but he was a mere adolescent like Jon, which made the relationship more disturbing. Misplaced delusional arrogance and haughtiness only served to sow animosity amongst the rest of the workers.

The redhead tried to take a swing at him, but he was too slow and Jon’s combat training and agility had him moving and twisting the shocked Mr. Wilkes’ arm painfully behind him. “You bastard! I’ll see you hang for this!”

Jon twisted harder making the redhead yelp, “Oh, I’d like to see you try, but then again I’d doubt anyone would take you seriously. Leave me be and return to your lover’s nest before I get really cross.”

He shoved the boy to the ground, standing erect and imposing making the humiliated redhead shake with fury but begrudgingly scurry away like the child he was.

Jon kept his eyes on the retreating form until he disappeared over the hill, then the Kryptonian collapsed to his knees, shaking as his heartbeat raced making his breathing strain and head cloudy. He blinked several times because he felt as though his eyes were bleeding red, he was sure it was the adrenaline.

____________________________

He was going to apologize. Not because Colin deserved it but because the guilt of losing control and getting Thaddeus in trouble was too much for him to bear. He was also frightened by the phantom anger that almost made him break the boy’s arm; it was only by pure willpower that he was able to reign in the beast. At first, he’d spent all of yesterday trying to rationalize the event, but the more he tried to explain it away, the less believable it seemed. It was as if he were possessed.

He’d kept his head down and out of peoples’ way all afternoon and did the extra work as he was ordered without complaint. By the end of the evening, exhausted but determined he’d waited for Colin by the workers’ courters, as it was one of the redhead’s duties to hand out wages. Waiting for everyone to leave, he tentatively approached the young boy, “Uh, Mr. Wilkes, a word please?”

Colin looked up and stiffened which made Jon inwardly cringe, he bowed his head regretfully, “I-I wanted to apologize for yesterday, it—it was wrong of me.”

The redhead wore an undiscernible expression which made Jon slightly nervous but then it slowly turned into one of exasperation, “It’s alright Kent, I didn’t exactly handle the situation well either. All’s forgiven.”

The Kryptonian couldn’t help but smile, relief filling him. “Thank you Mr. Wilkes, I’ll see you next week.”

Colin grinned and watched as Jon and his uncle took up their horse and buggy and rode home.

As the two chatted with ease about work, their horse suddenly halted and began to nay erratically, “Bellshan, settle down! What is it my boy what---”

Immediately, arrows began to fly towards them and frighten the stallion as he screeched and took off at a gallop, the force throwing Thaddeus and Jon backward into the wagon. The octogenarian shook his head and groaned but recovered quickly as he could hear the whistling of more arrows and riders pursuing them.

As Jon got up his keen eyes spotted their assailants, they were wearing scarfs obscuring their faces and had daggers hanging off them.

Eyes widening, the ex-prince turned towards Thaddeus who was firmly holding the reins, “T-Thaddeus, wh-what are we going to do?”

The old stable master glared as he thought, he unsheathed his weapon, shoving the reins into Jon’s hands, “I will buy you time, whatever you do, do not look back!”

Shocked and not yet fully processing his words, the Kryptonian blinked and then suddenly, the old man was leaping towards the closest of the four riders, yelling voraciously as he toppled the man and slashed him mercilessly.

Feeling his heart speed up, Jon gulped down his fear and turned his focus on the horse, snapping Bellshan to go faster, trying to keep up speed and holding the whip to utilize in case he had to defend himself.

Just as he thought, he was home free out of the thick woods, disaster struck. Going too fast and then grazed by an arrow, Bellshan veered off course tripping and landing them in a deep ditch. It was like slow motion, going over the edge of the road and then into the depths of the abyss, Jon bared down for impact, which was fast and hard demolishing the buggy and throwing the young boy into brush with a thud. As Jon rolled around trying to gain his senses, he heard rustling and then Thaddeus’s voice, he groaned and the man rushed over, checking him quickly before supporting him out of the foliage and further into the forest.

The old man coughed roughly and sputtered but ran swiftly while dragging the boy behind him until he regained his footing. They reached an empty ravine that hadn’t any water besides puddles due to low rainfall. The icy waters seeped into more than their shoes, Thaddeus took in the prince, shaken and shivering with anxious fear in his eyes but he tried valiantly to be brave. It made the elderly stable master’s heart swell with pride and he knew that Jon would one day grow to be a great man but unfortunately, he’d have to do it alone. A wet and ragged cough alerted Jon to Thaddeus’s side and with horror; he could make out the pungent smell of iron and saw in his hand red splotches.

Scanning his body Jon gasped when he spots the wounds, two mortal stabs, one in his chest most likely the lung given the labored breathing and in-between his third and fourth rib hitting his liver. They held each other’s eyes, knew that it was the end and yet, Jon’s sky blue eyes welled with tears. For the second time in his eleven years of life, his world was crumbling around him.

He licked his lips, desperation evident in his wobbly voice, “T-Thaddeus...please...stay, stay with me. I—I’ll go and get help...! I----”

The old warrior’s hand silenced Jon’s rambling, he looked down and placed in his palm was a cape pendant. Squinting the young boy sucked in a breath when he realized what it was, Thaddeus grinned, eyes drooping and wheezing but he had enough energy to speak, “I-I pa-planned to gi-give you this o-on y-your eighteenth year...I’m afraid I will n-not have the chan-chance Sire....”

Jon shook, blinded by sorrow; Thaddeus placed his heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder, repressing another cough, “ _Never forget who you are_... _never_.”

Squeezing the dying man’s wrist, scrunching up his face remorsefully, he nodded. The weary stable master relaxed and then all went black, his body subtly becoming limp and his spirit leaving his body.

Jon wavered as he sat there, numb and devastated, tucking the pendant snugly into his inner waist pocket. Suddenly, the Kryptonian felt a painful blow to the back of his head and lights out.

____________________________

He was startled awake with water in his face and he jumped, groaning as he attempted to rise but was roughly grabbed by his arms to stand on numb legs. The pins and needles shooting through his body made him close his eyes momentarily to compose himself.

“Hello Kent, I’d say it’s good to see you but that would be dishonest of me.” An arrogant flint in the anonymous voice bounced against Jon’s ringing eardrums and then it registered, Colin Wilkes...but...?

Sky blue eyes blinked in the redhead’s blurred outlined direction, “C-olin? Wh-at happened?”

Colin tilted his head, “You’re getting on a boat that’s what’s happening” the sarcastic bite made the Kryptonian scowl.

“How did you know I was in trouble? Did you bury my uncle, he---”

Incredulous hazel eyes set upon him pointedly, a crooked smirk on his lips, “Kent, I was the one that hired them to capture you. Your uncle was an unfortunate casualty but his death was my gain. You nearly evaded the men but imagine my surprise when they brought you at my feet, telling me you didn’t even try to run but stayed at the side of the old man?”

Jon growled, feeling the feral phantom anger rousing within. The redhead huffed and finished paying the ship captain, a flick of his hand and Jon’s released but then, a crewmember clasped shackles on his feet and hands. The former prince looked at them bewilderedly, a great uneasiness growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Wh--”

Mr. Wilkes ran a hand casually through his hair, messing with a loose bang, “Simon was kind enough to rid me of your presence and thus I took it upon myself to accrue you _‘new employment’_.”

Before Jon could utter a word, the captain yelled, “All aboard, men gather the _slaves_ and file them in the cargo hold!”

Cold realization dowsed over Jon making his eyes widen, as two men were pulling him by his restraints, he struggled, glaring daggers at Colin, “You cowardly, disrep---”

The redhead slapped Jon across the face, cutting his lip and he harshly grabbed the Kryptonian’s chin to force him to look into his eyes, “This will teach you never to cross your betters and stay in your place, _slave_.”

____________________________

**Year 1**

**Jamelitzi**

**12 years old**

In mid-June, the ship arrived in the Jamelitzi harbor. The first breath of fresh air was like a conformation of endurance. Endurance over the disease that ran rampant in the cramped cargo hold, over the tumultuous waters taking them to lands unknown from the homelands they’d been stolen from. It was testament to their spirit or what shred was left, it was bitter and yet benignant for however long it lasted.

Among the few still standing rugged and worn was one child, the only child to have survived the journey. Jon hissed as the hot rays of the sun flooded his eyes and he cowered under the warmth, having grown somewhat accustomed to darkness. Instinctively he grouped at his inner pants pocket to reassure himself of the cape pendant. He sighed with relief when he felt the coolness of the metal against his skin.

“Move it, move it—come on!” Tripping and nearly dragging, the chained slaves were lead into the city square where all manner of business transacted. Jon was bombarded by a cacophony of sounds and his eyes nearly crossed as he tried to take in all that was new and bright.

The air was permeated with foreign scents and scents he knew well, spices so fragrant he licked his chapped lips in hopes that some of the powder would stick to the moist surface. When they reached their destination they were filed into a basement, five at once propped against the walls and assaulted with lye powder to disinfect them and then splashed with cold water. When it was Jon’s turn to strip, he vehemently refused and struggled which resulted in a rough beating. When they couldn’t get him to yield, they merely pushed him up against the wall and threw lye along with water on him fully clothed.

They cut certain slaves’ hair short or shaved them if they hardly had any, they were given straw mats to sleep on and a piece of bread and dried meat each to fill their starving stomachs. Some nearly choking because they were eating too fast and others suffering abominable pains.

As night swept over the city, Jon sat somberly, air visible as he puffed he looked mournfully down at the pendant, it was the El crest. His heart throbbed for his country, his own bed and parents’ embrace, he wished to Rao he could wake once more to his brothers and sisters sitting around the table trading Celtic rhymes and songs.

____________________________

Standing on the slave market scaffold facing a horde of appraising and scathing eyes made Jon tremble internally. The captain that Mr. Wilkes had sold him to was standing off a ways and rallying the audience’s attention with outlandish lies of each of their ‘talents’ so as to flatter their otherwise wretched appearance and moods.

Jon felt the captain grab his shackles and pull him forward, parade him around and open his mouth for all to gawk at his teeth, much like an animal at auction.

“Lad of twelve years but as you see, he will grow into a man of steel! Gentlemen—speak up and place your price for you will not regret it!”

Roars and squabbling rang in Jon’s ears and then a booming voice silenced them all, “200 sattas, and 50 for good will!”

The crowd roared and the captain smiled excitedly, “Sold! To...?”

The man strutted up to the front, his mere presence parting the rabble like the red sea, he eyed the Kryptonian up and down salaciously, a crude smirk on his lips, patch over his left eye and dressed in black noble fashion.

Handing the money to the captain, never breaking sight of the boy, he said “Wilson. Lord Slade Wilson of Knights Perch”.

____________________________

Slade Wilson. A man of mystery, there was little he shared of his past and thus gossip and heresy transformed him into an almost legendary figure amongst the high and lower nobility classes and to the superstitious labor and indigenous factions as some fearsome phantom to avoid.

Some say he was once a wealthy son of some aristocratic merchant of Saxon who, through faulty dealings was disowned and thus set out to make his own fortune.

Others, who had more keen a head and scrupulous eye noticed the many faded cuts and scaring that marred his face and hands, the soullessness of his brown eye only solidified the belief that he was little more than a pirate or hired mercenary.

Regardless of his origins, one thing stood factual, he was a notorious libertine of voracious appetite.

Riding with the other purchased slaves, feeling the bumps of the rugged road to Knights Perch, Jon tried to keep his mind lucid, his heart steady and most importantly, he tried to invoke stability. The urge to jump off the cart was great but would he risk taking his chances with possibly breaking a leg just to run away?

Just as his nerves and resolve were gearing up to leap, the cart rode up to the front gate which was made of brick and stone, up ahead stood a sprawling estate and front center an enormous planation house. White washed, encircled by wild and thriving tropical plants and in the distance a mountain ridge.

It was marvelous; Jon couldn’t help but be amazed.

“To the slave quarters Reinhardt. I will be along shortly.” Lord Wilson disappeared into the mansion without another word and thus they were taken to an assembly of thatched houses and meager fields of vegetables, fruits and stream.

They filed off the wagon and were shown to their respective huts and assigned cots, thinking quickly, Jon removed his treasure and stuffed it under the straw mattress securely and discreetly. They were then lined up just as the Lord came riding down on a coal black stallion as intimidating as his Master.

Stepping down with a solid thud, he walked up to the slaves, hands clasped behind his back, surveying his purchases with a calculated eye.

He sniffed, clearing his throat, “When you hear your number and where to go, step forward and you will be taken there.”

“15, stables!”

“65, stables!”

“50, kitchen!”

“16, fields!”

“80, fields!”

“40, distillery!”

“7, main house!”

“90, fields!”

“250...main house!”

Jon looked up confusedly, he was expecting the fields or stables but as he caught the Lord’s eye, he recoiled and paused but was yanked along to the top of the hill to the mansion.

____________________________

Stepping into the threshold of the house was akin to stepping into the gaping mouth of a whale. Jon felt a strange chill pierce his bones as he raked his eyes over the interior of a cavernous interior that seemed impossibly dark despite the numerous windows he’d counted when they first rode up in the wagon.

Lord Wilson nodded for Jon to follow him into the setting room off to the side of the foyer. It smelled like seafoam, fog and earth and had a dank feeling all around. “You will serve as my children’s slave once they arrive from boarding school in Carnac.”

Jon stilled, taken aback by this piece of knowledge; the man did not seem warm in the slightest, least of all benevolent enough to raise children with the sordid reputation he had.

“Until then---”

The nobleman poured himself a glass of whisky, “—you shall serve me.” He took a long swig, the aura tight with suspense, Jon could feel his knees quake but he tried to keep his wits about him.

The man walked about the room, glass in hand as he swirled the liquor, “I heard tell you were purchased across the sea from the country of Krypton... _well_ , not so anymore if the news I heard on the captain’s lips is true...”

He trained his eye on the boy, “Is it?”

Jon looked forward, never at the man, clenching his hands tight, knuckles white, “... _Yes_ ”

Lord Wilson looked away, tilting his head matter-of-factly much akin to a canine. He raised his brows, briefly puckered his lips in contemplation, and then finished his drink.

In an expertly fluid motion he set the glass down and twirled, backhanding Jon across his face with such force he fell to the carpet, landing with a thud. The ringing in his ears and hot throbbing pulsated through his entire face and when he tried to breathe, it’s kicked out of him by the nobleman’s boot to his stomach, trying to break his ribs. Fortunately or perhaps unfortunately, he carried within him robust genes.

Nonetheless, the pain was excruciating, much like the night of his near demise by... _him_. He coughed raggedly, feeling he’d vomit but there was nothing to expel. He felt his eyes spring a stream, his nose running a mixture of mucus and blood; he could taste it in his rattling teeth and tongue.

He tried to shake the double vision form his blurred eyes but all he could do is scramble to his knees like a frightened animal as he’d suspected the nobleman was serving himself another drink.

Staggering to his feet, he began to run for the front door but before he pasted the doors, he felt a blade pierce his shoulder. He tripped and cried out, but his spirit still blazed and he began to crawl, crawl, crawl...he screamed and screamed.

“You have a fire in you I will enjoy snuffing out little by little!” he grabbed Jon by his feet and dragged him back into the sitting room.

Jon sunk his fingers into the rug, tearing it to ribbon which only served to provoke Lord Wilson’s ire.

“Little wretch, you’ll pay for that!” He yanked Jon by his shirt, slapped him repeatedly despite the Kryptonian’s valiant effort to ward off the blows. Growing tired of the deflecting, as Jon swung his hands in the nobleman’s face, he began to chomp at the boy’s fingers till he got one and bit down hard, causing the slave to wail but then kick his shin hard.

The hit made the man drop him as he cursed and ran around the room, looking wildly for any defense, till his eyes landed on a sword on the wall, he grabbed at it, ripping off some of the wallpaper but he positioned into a fighting stance.

When Lord Wilson stood up to run at Jon once more, he halted in his step when he saw what the boy had in his hand, he was huffing and disheveled as he weighed his options. Before him stood a scared child, he wouldn’t know the first thing handling a weapon _but_...

He glowered teasingly at Jon, “What do you think you’re going to accomplish? You think you have the strength to kill a man?”

Sky blue irises shook with adrenaline, his vision tinging red, his rage bubbling as he glared daggers at the man. He scowled, swiftly stood straight up and put the blade to his neck; the noble’s snide smirk fell and his eyes widened.

Jon’s scowling top lip trembled, “No, but I haven’t anything to live for so taking my own life would be little trouble.”

As he began to slide the blade across his throat, it was grabbed from him, he fell to the ground and then the blade was in his face.

Lord Wilson had a dark look in his iris, “You’re pathetic.”

It was like a ripple effect, the memory of _his_ words.

_‘Pathetic!’_

Angry tears dripped down his battered face but the demon blood burned in his veins.

_‘Pathetic!’_

He rose to his knees defiantly, chest pushed out, mouth pursed.

_‘Pathetic!’_

He didn’t recognize the voice that spoke, “Says the _coward_ that beats children. Do it then and be done with it. _Kill me_.”

He had no care, no worry nor fear in that moment as he stared into the silent nobleman’s face, daring him, challenging him.

Suddenly, like a switch, the man retracted the sword and turned away from the kneeling boy. Jon blinked, heart still pounding like a hammer against his ribcage. He glared at Lord Wilson as he pour another glass.

The man tutted, “It’s true what they say of Krypton’s arrogant reputation, ‘The wealthy are roses and the thrones slaves’.”

He gulped the drink and gritted his teeth, turning to scrutinize Jon who’d resumed his defensive stance, he laughed hollowly.

“I have a reputation of my own you see...back in Saxon I was known as _‘Deathstroke’_.”

He strides towards Jon, hovering over him as he ran a finger down the Kryptonian’s cheek, “If I so wish it, I can wipe you from this earth like ash.”

The finger trailed down to his chest and stopped at his sternum, “I’ve always wanted my own _genuine_ Kryptonian so, for now you live by my grace alone. _Be grateful_.”

____________________________

The Wilson children carried themselves like adults, dressed in the latest fashions of Carnac. Lord Wilson had a son and daughter who were half siblings of thirteen and fourteen, one and two years older than Jon. Stepping off the carriage was the girl, dress in a pastel yellow dress the was cinched tight as if she were sewn into it and then the skirt was likened to an upside down tulip flared at the bottom, she wore her hair up in an intricate design with dangling rogue curls caressing her neck. Her hair was the color of spun gold and her face was fair and touched with rosy blush, lip stain, powder and a snobbish demeanor that made Jon embarrassed for his family had run in circles and dealt with gentry of this nature.

The boy was dressed in relaxed slacks but the design still emphasized the male physique, his vest was a moss green and jacket forest green. It was endowed with decorative trimmings and he too had a head of golden spun hair tied neatly in a simple bow. He hadn’t any makeup on but he wore the same demeanor as his sister.

“Rose, Joseph—how I’ve waited for this day!”

Lord Wilson embraced his children with all the sugarcoated affection of an egregiously inept and neglectful parent to keep appearances.

He then began to go down the line of servants to acquaint them, Jon indiscreetly scratched at the brand on his upper right arm. His wounds from the beating two weeks prior were still in the early stages of healing, the usual mode of conduct when Lord Wilson got too “carried away” with his sadistic acts was to have one of the female maids cover the dirty deeds with makeup but the nobleman refused the Kryptonian that “privilege”. He wanted to humiliate him for having the audacity of courage.

Thus is why, when the children came to him, immediately their faces twisted into sour and disgusted grimaces.

Lord Wilson however smiled sickly sweet, “Rose, Joseph this is your new servant. Give him a good proper name will you.”

Jon’s eyes looked beyond the Wilson children as he focused on a singular bird flying away, its figure shrinking little by little.

“Slave”

Jon refocused on the girl, Rose, as she appraised him with her cacao irises, he managed not to come across as staring but he couldn’t help but be drawn to her Asian features now that she was mere inches from him. Her skin looked as though it had been bleached one too many times to count, but still had a tinge of bronzy undertones. By the looks of it, he’d deduce that her mother must’ve been from a region boarder lining Golia or perhaps Lanka, the people tended to be darker or tanner in comparison to their fairer farther eastern counterparts of Edo or Chikong.

“Y-yes miss?”

Lady Rose arched a brow and Jon looked down to which she tutted but spoke dismissively, “You look like an _‘Elijah’_ , what do you think Joseph?”

Sir Joseph glanced briefly at his sister, exchanged a bored look between her and Jon, “Yes, it’s fine--- _Good grief_ , I’d forgotten how humid it is here!” he was wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

Lady Rose giggled as they strolled towards the front door, the young girl, without looking back called to Jon like a dog, “Come along Elijah!”

____________________________

_He felt a feather like touch against his cheek, twitched and huffed through his nose. The breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle and sunlight intertwined with fresh grass and spices. He felt the feather caress once again, more insistent this time._

_He made a point to ignore it but the Kryptonian was ticklish and thus, a smile broke his composure and he swatted at the offender, opening his eyes to come face to foxtail. He blinked owlishly and pushed back noticing a grinning Abbas looking down at him._

_He pouted to which the other shoved the plant back at him but Jon grabbed his outstretched hand and flipped them with Abbas under him and the prince snatching the foxtail, wriggling it mercilessly in the stable hand’s face._

_They played back and forth like this for some time, wrestling and rolling around till they ended up in the exact position they’d been in minutes before._

_Cheeks pink and breathless, his heart beating rapidly but lying next to his beau relaxed him immensely. Abbas’s heart was beating the same and Jon leaned up and forward capturing the boy’s mouth in a sweet kiss._

_It lasted only seconds but it felt like hours to Jon, he pulled back and smiled adoringly at Abbas who tsked as he looked away closing his eyes, blushing furiously._

_“I love you Abbas...”_

_The other stiffened slightly but then relaxed, running his hand through Jon’s raven locks, “So do I Jon...so do I.”_

_Two days later Krypton fell._

Jon awoke in a cold sweat, labored heart and breath. He felt himself shaking uncontrollably, a dream...no...a _memory_. The ex-prince’s lips trembled and he slid his legs up to his chest and buried his head in them, weeping with shame.

____________________________

“Elijah, get my horse!”

“Elijah, my breakfast and be quick I have to be in town in an hour!”

“ELIJAH YOU CLUMSY FOOL!” a hard slap across the face did little to stir his emotions as his mind was still reeling from that scorching memory.

He’d been tasked with cleaning Lady Rose’s room and accidently dropped her powder box shattering it. She threw a fit befitting a toddler for nearly two hours to the chagrin of all in the house. Despite her tantrum however, it was his innocent folly that actually drew the real ire of the servants, they’d been privy to the Wilson’s idiosyncrasies far longer than he had and knew the punishment for so little an offense.

Flogging of the entire house.

When Jon was reprimanded and nearly punched by another servant, Tobias, he went to the sitting room when night fell.

“Enter”

He pushed the door open, and waited to be acknowledged. Lord Wilson was lounging by the fire, liquor in hand sitting and watching the flames dance. His was mesmerized with the element, how it bounced off the glassy veneer of his umber brown eye and melded with the deep shadows of his face.

Lord Wilson smirked, “What do you want _Elijah_?” it came out soft and empty; Jon frowned but pushed on, “I want to take the punishment for the house. They should not be responsible for my mistake.”

The nobleman didn’t look at him; he breathed in, took a long drink and continued to watch the fireplace. Though only minutes passed it seemed like hours.

“Running a grand estate requires a firm hand you see...” the man stood, cup discarded on an end table and strides like a leopard towards Jon, circling “...without rules there is no discipline and without discipline, chaos.”

He rounded on the Kryptonian, a condescending expression etched into his face, a feigned tint of curiosity within the crevices. “You have nothing to prove to these people, why does it matter if they share the brunt of my whip? What do you gain by playing a martyr?”

Jon didn’t look the man in the eye, not because he was scared, but because his vision and mind were clouded with memories of a past life lived in blissful ignorance that he begrudgingly had to come to terms with. He still wrestled with the stark reality and wrongs of his legacy.

“It was my mistake. I should pay for it. There isn’t any favor to gain nor respect, I’m smart enough to know that. Just punish me.”

The nobleman squinted, annoyed by this slave’s insolence, but then Lord Wilson smirked, “Very well, you shall have your request, but you will owe me for this _kindness_. Now go.”

Jon almost choked on bitter laughter at that quip as he walked solemnly down the hill to the assigned hut to his cot with the rest of the servants.

His face one of quiet countenance, perhaps this miserable existence was his penance for being the son of a complacent ruler, perhaps not.

____________________________

The day was overcast, gloomy and humid as was common in the tropics; Jon stood outside the thatched quarters looking up at the gray clouds as they drifted by. He woke that morning without fear nor care...lately those two feelings were the prevailing ones amongst the plethora that plagued him nowadays.

No one spoke to him. He could feel their glares, how funny he thought to be on the receiving end of such indignation. It was once one of his deepest fears, to be hated or looked upon with disappointment, he cared about others’ opinions but now, in the greater scheme of things he was starting to see the absurdity of that mentality.

Yet...maybe Lord Wilson was right in a sense, that innate desire to placate and please, to be seen in favor rather than repute. He still wanted to appease, still wanted and _needed_ some small semblance of mercy.

As he walked up the hill, all the house servants lined up, and the rest watched on with heavy trepidation, Lord Wilson and his children emerged from the house and took refuge under a gazebo as if preparing for a sermon.

The nobleman stood walking towards the post with shackles nailed in it, the overseer following behind.

Lord Wilson raked his eye over the house servants till it landed on Jon, he had a cruelness in his features as he spoke, “As you all know mistakes—no matter the size are handled with the strictest of punishment. However, none shall bear the whip this day---”

This initiated immediate confusion and then hesitant relief and their murmurings were growing louder but none so loud as Lady Rose’s and Sir Joseph’s displeased yelling till Lord Wilson spoke again, “—none _but_ Elijah. Isn’t that right lad?”

Jon’s hands were to his sides, no tension in his body, he merely stood a little straighter, looking the nobleman in the eye, “Yes Master.”

The nobleman motioned for the overseer to grab and shackle Jon to the post. The silence returned, as the Kryptonian was clasped to the pole, he felt the overseer tear the back of his shirt, he grabbed tightly at the chains that were hooked to the cuffs. Laying his forehead to the rigid wood, he breathed in the earthy scent.

“There are twenty slaves that work the house. The reprimand for a misdeed is five lashes. So...times that is one hundred lashes.”

Lord Wilson unclasped his cufflinks to roll up his sleeves, removed his jacket and took up the whip.

Jon honestly didn’t feel the first lash till after it left his skin, then the hot stink reverberated throughout his body but he kept his eyes closed and mouth screwed shut.

The second lash came with the wind, that seemed to intensify the burn, the third, and fourth he was able to block out shortly.

He tried to focus on his own thoughts, fill his mind with random Kryptonese history, any history...he invoked memories of his dead family but that quickly proved to be the wrong avenue to take because he could feel tears in his eyes, begging to be released.

The whip was ripping his flesh, he could hear the squelch of raw and bloodied skin, felt the smattering against his face, could hear the gasps of the other servants. His legs began to quiver, he wanted to collapse, wanted to scream out in pain but just then, his mind replayed the night of the siege, as vivid as if he were physically there.

He could smell the fire, hear the wailing and feel the panic...the memory faded and reappeared with Damian Al Ghul Wayne’s face, his obsidian hair, tanned olive skin and enchanting emerald irises glaring at him; mocking him...he remembered the smirk as he lay dying by his hand.

Suddenly that phantom demonic anger awoke in him, he growled, eyes shooting open with regained strength and energy, his face set in a scowl as he tipped his head back to look up at the sky.

He’d lost count, lost any sense of time but he knew he must still be receiving the lashings because he felt the pressure of something repeatedly landing across his back, felt the slippery blood under foot and saw splotches of fuzzy outlines of bodies moving, talking...?

He closes his eyes again and then realizes that he doesn’t feel the hits anymore. The sounds muted in his ears,

His anger being the only drive left in his body, “...S...ir...”

His breathing labored, “...S...ir...”

“H..ke..p..oning!”

“B...t.....Si..r...al...most.....th...e...mu...s...cl...e”

Jon’s mind went blank and with it his vision, though his eyes stayed open. Then everything went black.

____________________________

He didn’t know how long he slept, had no recollection of being released from the post nor dragged to the thatched hut. He alternated between fevered nightmares and insomnia. The other occupants of the hut spoke in hushed tones, he saw them as blurred outlines moving and glancing randomly at him.

The wounds burned, pulsated, the cook, an Afri woman of perhaps forty tended to his wounds with bandages of healing balms and elixirs, which stung fiercely, and he writhed in pain but never whimpered or pleaded. He wept quietly but never asked for reprieve; as his back healed and strength returned he was put to menial tasks and did them without complaint. Despite other servants, perhaps to extend gratitude or pity, attempting to relieve his burden, Jon rebuffed their help with stoniness.

He was never cruel nor nasty, perfected his role as the Wilson children’s servant and took their verbal abuses in stride.

It took nearly four months for the lash wounds to heal completely but that time of recovery was the closest Jon came to the most minuscule peace he’d known since the fall of his family.


	3. Ephemeral Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HELLLOOO!!!! I'm sorry for the long delay! Hope everyone is doing alright and rest assured I haven't abandoned ANY of my fics! Thank you for your patience! Enjoy!
> 
> Languages Used
> 
> *(1): Yoruba (West African dialect)
> 
> *(2): Kryptonian (I downloaded the font soooo yeah...the bolded non-quoted texted will henceforth be 'Kryptonian' speech)
> 
> *(3): Scottish Gaelic

**DO NOT REPOST. DO NOT EDIT. DO NOT REBLOG.**

**Disclaimer** : I DO NOT OWN THE DC FRANCHISE OR ANY AFFILIATES.

**Copyright © 2020 Antonia G. Reyes All Rights Reserved.**

**Trigger Warnings:** Racial slur/allusion to racist ideology, murder, blood magic/consumption

^^^^^^^^^^^

_“Live life for the moment, because everything else is uncertain.”_

_**Louis Tomlinson** _

**Chapter 3** **:** Ephemeral Respite

**Years 1--2**

**New Gotham**

After the fall of Krypton, the Wayne monarchy truly began with the migration of the capital from its primordial region upon the ruins of Kandor, heretical realm of the House of El.

The palace renovated the echo of its former glory within the Zantiean architecture with touches of Inthian taste. It was a splendid testament to conquest, bluntly garish in typical aristocratic arrogance. The people settled into their new reality without great opposition in hopes that their new presiding empire would provide what their predecessors would not.

That achievement laid way to several incidental victories over territories and thus the kingdom grew through alliances of trade and intimidation; King Bruce established a faux egalitarian government he controlled as opposed to the kingdom of Saxon where their monarchy were powerless in matters of legislation. His family crest being that of a bat, he earned a reputation as the “Bat” King for his habit of micro-domination and brigade of Shadows.

His children were his overseers, spies and extenders of power over the people and through them his influence reached far and beyond without detection nor enemy intrigue.

**____________________________**

**Years 2—4**

**Jamelitzi**

**13—15 years old**

The day started with house chores at dawn until six, then setting Lady and Sir’s clothing out and after departure, cleaning after them, leaving any room they occupied in disarray. The afternoons were spent fanning Lady Rose as she took her naps, being the object of ridicule as she spat vicious, juvenile insults at him. He said nothing and left to endure the uncanniness of Sir Joseph who merely watched him like a vulture as he did menial tasks. Sometimes the young master would order him to balance several books on his head or arms and tell him to remain in those positions till he got bored.

He rarely ever got bored.

His only shred of solace was near the end of the night when it was time to retire to the huts, he’d sneak away after everyone went to sleep and run toward the stables to talk to the horses and other animals. He’d been caught a couple times sleeping in the corrals by the field and stable slaves who, after last year decided to watch out for the Kryptonian and warn him before the morning’s light to return to his hut before the overseer caught him. He hesitantly accepted this small kindness, but never abused it. In turn, he always tried to return it with extra loaves of bread, meat or refreshment for them.

He assisted Folami, the cook who nursed him after the flogging, with diligence and obedience listening in reserved fascination as she rattled on with the other Afri slaves in their native tongue, which they miraculously kept hidden and alive. She was averagely robust but not overweight, moved like a whirlwind around the mansion and plantation grounds. She transitioned between various duties such as cook, maid and butcher but also as the medicine woman given her innate knowledge of medicinal properties of plants and flowers. Lord Wilson rarely if only under dire circumstances hired and brought out a trained physician to treat the slaves.

Jon had always had a gift of mimicry and loved linguistics growing up; it was one of his proficient subjects during his formative studies.

Whenever he was in vicinity of any of the Afri servants, he feigned ignorance but all the while was mentally absorbing the language and verbal inflections of the words, watching with carefully concealed glances the mannerisms and gestures of the men and women.

During the nights spent in the corrals, he practiced, talk to the beasts and recite passages of poetry he memorized. He swiped parchment and made notes of repetitive words and phrases he heard, devised a vague type of alphabet based solely on what he heard. He would not presume to know a thing of what they were speaking, hadn’t a clue but that did not mean he couldn’t learn something, if anything.

He found that, at present, there was little in the way of joy and pleasure and for Jon learning had always been a comfort for him, a way to calm the storm of despair that constantly threatened to overwhelm him.

____________________________

He was not thinking when he spoke. He had no inclination when the words came out of his mouth; he was fogged with numerous other tasks awaiting his attention to care what rolled off his tongue.

“Eyi ni awọn cloves ti ata ilẹ ati ata fun ọ. _(Here are cloves of garlic and pepper for you.)_ ”*

It was a clanging spoon on the stone floor that alerted him of his mistake.

When he hesitantly looked up, all the Afri servants were gawking at him as if they saw a ghost but Folami’s expression was the one that worried him the most. She looked at him with an intensely scrutinizing expression edged with suspicion and he pursed his lips.

She spoke then, “How you know my language boy?” a firm question in sharp accented English made Jon inwardly cringe, he darted his eyes around, mindful of those in the kitchen and of the exits if he had to flee.

He swallowed and inhaled slowly, his expression neutral “I taught myself only a little.”

The others shared glances of distrust and annoyance, “ _How?_ ” She undauntedly continued to stare him down, Jon kept his face impartial, “I watched and listened. Wrote down common phrases and letters I heard everyone speak.”

They started to whisper pensively, all the while the Kryptonian grew more uneasy and discouraged. He knew it would be a long shot, despite their supposed kindnesses, people were people and thus they had their prejudices and unspoken rules according to their race and ethnicities.

He huffed resolutely, “I meant no malice nor disrespect, I won’t speak you’re language again.” He murmured leaving the room before anyone could say anymore, upset and angry for allowing himself to hope.

That night he sat amongst the sheep, gazing up at the wooden planked ceiling and rubbing his thumbs over the emblem of his family crest pendant. He held it up and forlornly admired it, fashioned into a diamond shape of red quartz inlaid with a solid piece of amber with the Kryptonian symbol for ‘hope’ with an “s” shape of red quartz laid on top the amber stone. Etched with fine artisan script was the family creed.

“We do not burn but shine _(We do not burn but shine)_ ”, Kryptonian sounded forbidden to him nowadays, he cannot remember the last time he uttered a single word before today. Jon felt one of the sheep shift closer to him and that made him crack a grin. Yawning, he drifted to sleep in the warmth of wool and hay.

____________________________

“Ji ... ji ọmọ _(Wake up...wake up child)_ ”, Jon stirred at the voice but made no effort to rise until he felt a light tapping on his cheek. Blinking his blurred eyes, the mist of sleep thinned as he recognized that it was Folami. Shaking the doziness a little more urgently, he stood and brushed his clothes. The woman barely spared a glance before she began to walk swiftly only turning when Jon lagged, “Wá, maṣe dawdle _(Come on, don't dawdle)_.”

He only nodded and jogged after her in silent confusion as she wordlessly lead them into the nearby jungle forest. In the early morning before the sun rose, it was cool and cloudless with the seafoam carrying the scents of hibiscus and calla lilies. They were subtle fragrances, soft and fresh.

As they walked through the jungle, Jon minded the bushy path, keeping an eye for snakes and other creatures on the ground.

“Wá nibi ọmọ, wo _...(_ _Come here baby, see ...)_ ”, the cook was holding a short scythe and pointing at a tree with large green skinned fruit, cutting two down she held one out to Jon.

“What is it?” his sky blue eyes sparked with perplexity, Folami smirked, “Papaya, o dara fun awọn iṣoro oporoku, aiṣedede, ikọ, ikọ-fèé, gbuuru, ibà, ọgbẹ, mycoses. _(Papaya, good for intestinal problems, indigestion, cough, asthma, diarrhea, fever, ulcers, mycoses.)_ ”

She cut it open revealing a vibrant red ombre orange cream color with blackish brown seeds, Jon’s eyes widened at the beauty of the fruit, taking it tentatively from the Afri woman’s hand. Lifting it to his nose he inhaled a sweet earthy scent that made him sigh, “It’s...divine...” he murmured more to himself than the cook.

Folami grinned briefly and then frowned, cocking her hip and setting her left arm on it giving Jon an annoyed look. He shrunk a bit under the scrutiny, “D...Did I say something wrong?”

“Nigbati a ba sọrọ, a ṣe ni ahọn mi, loye? _(When we speak, we do it in my tongue, understand?)_ ”

Jon swallowed and blinked, “I---” She lifted a warning finger in his face and he nodded, “Y-bẹẹni Folami ma'am _(Y-yes Folami ma'am)_ ”. Satisfied she nodded and turned on her heel to continue walking deeper into the tropical wilderness.

“Iwọ yoo pe mi ni Mama Folami lati igba bayi lọ _(You will call me Mama Folami from now on)_ ”, she was cutting berry latten leaves from another tree, handing them for Jon to examine and memorize. “Neem, o dara fun itọju ehín, itọju awọ, ọgbẹ, ọgbẹ, jijo, candida, iba _(Neem, good for dental care, skin care, sores, ulcers, burning, candida, fever.)_ ”

“Kí nìdí ... _(Why...)_ ”

“Kí nìdí? _(Why?)_ ” The cook looked up at the boy’s face and instantly her expression softened; his eyes were diverted from the task and he looked bashful, scared.

“Kini idi ti o fẹ ki n pe ni 'Mama Folami'? _(Why do you want me to call you 'Mama Folami'?)_ ”

She gently takes the leaves and berries from the Kryptonian’s hands, placing them in her basket, “O jẹ aami ibọwọ ninu aṣa mi _(It is a symbol of respect in my culture.)_ ”

Jon stiffened at that, his mind flashing back to happier times, of celebrating and partaking in his own cultural practices. He looked up, eyes glassy but devoid of tears and full of seriousness. “O ye mi. Emi yoo ma pe ọ ni Mama Folami, paapaa nigba ti Titunto si wa nitosi. _(I understand. I will always call you Mama Folami, even when the Master is near.)_ ”

She was rarely a woman taken aback but the conviction in the boy’s voice had her heart skipping a beat. He had an aura about him since the day he’d been flogged that made him stand out among the rest of them, a strange presence she could not quite decipher.

She lightly grinned but inwardly she worried, this child’s sincerity would sooner get him killed than not. Walking in another direction of the forest, she spotted a plant that looked like parsley due to its feathery leaves but upon close inspection, it was clear this fauna had a waxy dusty texture to it and no distinct scent.

Cutting a handful of sprigs and putting one in Jon’s hand, she turned away to scan the terrain, looking for her next harvest.

“Jẹ ọmọ ọlọgbọn ... maṣe fi ṣe ẹlẹya _(Be a wise child..._ _do not go on mocking.)_ ” the Kryptonian gestured for her basket to carry and she handed it over as she walked over to another plant to cut.

“O jẹ ọkunrin ... ko si nkankan diẹ sii tabi kere si. _(He’s a man ... nothing more or less.)_ ” Folami paused at that statement and looked back at him, his apathy sending an unsettling shiver down her spine; so young and yet so resolved to die.

There was more behind those troubled sky blue irises but the woman knew when to pick her moments. She settled instead to continue with her medicinal lesson.

“Elijah eyi ni moringa. O dara fun àtọgbẹ, awọn iṣoro inu, scabies, ehín, ọgbẹ, awọn arun onibaje, iba, rurumatism, vertigo... _(Elijah this is moringa. Good for diabetes, stomach problems, scabies, dental, ulcers, chronic diseases, fever, rurumatism, vertigo...)_ ”

____________________________

Jon was methodically grinding down the feathery wax plant as Folami prattled on about it while she cooked dinner, “Artemisia, a ṣe tii ati awọn imularada miiran ... o dara fun iba, bilharzias, anm, akàn, candida, iba, iba, eje didi, ifun, scabies, abscess. _(Artemisia, we make tea and other cures ... good for fever, bilharzias, bronchitis, cancer, candida, fever, fever, blood clots, intestines, scabies, abscess.)_ ”

“Mama Folami kí ni wọn yóò sọ? _(Mama Folami_ _what will they say?)_ ”

The Afri woman stopped her stirring and set her glinting dark eyes on the boy, “Maṣe yọ ara rẹ lẹnu, fi silẹ fun mi. _(Don't worry, leave it to me.)_ ”

Jon smiled loosely, still unsure but not wanting to insult the woman with his doubt.

As the days and nights passed in relative peace, Jon continued to improve upon his Ruba. The Afri cook gradually began to seek him out to assist her on her excursions into the jungle for herbs and other medicines. She was tasked every two weeks on Monday to venture into the city to collect necessities for the plantation and on one of those Mondays, she asked Jon to join her.

He was hesitant given his designated role as the Wilson children’s’ servant and told her so but she merely tutted remarking she received permission from the Master to utilize him for her purposes for the day.

Considering the staunch incorrigibility of the Lord, he was tempted to refuse her but there was a strange unspoken finality in her mannerism and word. He was more compelled to trust her then worry about the likes of the sadistic nobleman.

Last time Jon walked through the city marketplace, he’d been sea weary and shackled but now, at least without restraints the Kryptonian couldn’t help but marvel at the lively hustle and bustle of vendors selling their goods, street performers and racketeering that went on in the darkened corners of buildings and alleyways. It was like another world in itself and even with arms filled with packages of goods and provisions; it did little to dull his wonder. Of course, the weight was becoming a challenge and it proved difficult to navigate the crowd while following Folami and her other assistant that knew the woman’s pattern of operation in the square. She moved with the swiftness of a cat and power of a ramrod, her presence bulling everyone out of the way in order to haggle and conduct business.

“M-ama Fo-lami, duro - fa fifalẹ ...! _(M-ama Fo-lami, wait - slow down ...!)_ ”

The robust Afri woman chuckled and tutted as she forged forward, “O gbọdọ yara lati tẹle ọmọ mi! _(You must hurry to follow my son!)_ ” Her assistant, Myra shook her head close behind as the two of them walked on chuckling.

Jon huffed as he struggled to get around the people, mindful of his feet along the way.

____________________________

Jon had caught sight of Myra and the young woman rolled her eyes but finally took some of the burden from the boy’s arms. He curled his lips in to hide a grin, the girl was eighteen like Tobias and the two were sweet on each other as Myra was pretty with a kind demeanor but masked it with sternness when dealing with the younger children of the plantation.

He got along well enough with her and as always tried his best to be of the utmost use to the others and not be a nuisance.

When the two of them found Folami at a vegetable vendor they noticed she was arguing with the man and it was escalating but Myra surged forward leaving Jon behind in a confused state.

Before he could react, Folami and Myra were already walking towards him with downtrodden expressions with a bushel of merger looking tomatoes and chilies.

The boy gave them a concerned look, “Mama Folami kini o ṣe aṣiṣe? _(Mama Folami what is wrong?)_ ”

The females looked at him before Folami sighed disgruntledly, “Ma wahala ara re lori re Elijah _(Do not worry about it Elijah)._ ”

Jon frowned as the woman walked past but stopped Myra, “Kini o ti ṣẹlẹ? _(What happened?)_ ” He held her eyes sternly and she hesitated, quickly flicking her sights at the retreating cook before reluctantly speaking, “Ọkunrin yẹn npo iye owo nigbagbogbo fun awọn ọja. Kii ṣe fun awọn iranṣẹ funfun, Afri nikan. _(That man is constantly increasing the price for products. Not for white servants, only Afri.)_ ”

His blood began to simmer, “Kí nìdí? _(Why?)_ ”

Myra stared at him incredulously, “Ṣe ẹnikẹni nilo idi kan lati korira awọn eniyan oriṣiriṣi? _(Does anyone need a reason to hate different people?)_ ”

She lifted her forearm in front of him pointedly, bitterness deeply etched in her features. Sky blue irises clouded, “Lẹhinna kilode ti o tẹsiwaju lati ra lati ọdọ oluta naa? _(Then why continue to buy from the seller?)_ ”

She snorted; a rueful smirk crossed her lips “Oun nikan ni eniti o taja si Afri. _(He is the only seller who sells to Afri.)_ ”

The boy lifted his chin in understanding, his glare set hard on the vendor as they walked further away.

**Teach him a lesson.** *

Jon halted, sharply inhaling a breath... _what_...?

**Vermin like him need to be put in their place. Go. Do something about it...**

He turned around, scanned the crowds hastily, the world froze and fell away as his hearing numbed to everything except to the disembodied voice. He felt shivers run throughout his body, cold sweat on the back of his neck as if the individual were pressed flush against him, icy lips breathing by his earlobe.

_‘W-Who are you? What do you want?’_

A hollow velvety laughter echoed in his mind as Jon swallows nervously.

 **I** **’** **m You. The You that** **’** **s** **been dormant. The You that has waited patiently for years to claim my rightful place.**

_‘H-How can---that’s impossible!’_

The voice hummed, **I** **’** **ve been with you since birth, I** **’** **m in your blood...**

Sky blue irises shook with confusion and fright, _‘No...no, no---You’re not! I would never hurt---’_

Another string of snickering, **Not yet** **,** **but what of Colin Wilkes?**

Jon’s heart stopped as he paled, _‘I...I---’_

A giggle, **You wanted to. You almost did. A pity, perhaps fate would have been kinder.**

He growled, _‘SILENCE---’_

**Powerless to defend your country---**

_‘STOP IT---’_

**Too weak to protect your family---**

_‘STOP—STOP---’_

**So cowardly you would allow your---**

_‘SHUT UP!’_

An eruption of sound broke the time lapse and in a blink, the world reanimated and came back into focus. Jon shook in disbelief, breathing hastened as he almost burst to tears before a hand gripped his shoulder firmly.

He jumped and turned to Myra who looked at him worriedly, “Elijah!--Elijah, iwo ko gbo mi? _(Elijah!--Elijah, did you not hear me?)_ ”

Jon licked his lips, the dryness of his throat preventing speech; he could only gape at the young girl.

Before she could say more, Jon beelines towards the produce vendor, immediately she followed yelling for him to stop but her cries landed on deaf ears.

The closer Jon got, the hotter his blood burned, the phantom fury possessing his actions, though he was aware of his surroundings the voice spurred him forward.

“Excuse me sir, I’d like a bushel of your ripest tomatoes and chilies.”

The vendor, a man of perhaps mid-thirties or forties perked and grinned at him, “Right, ye are laddy, how much de---”

Jon tutted innocently, “I’m afraid you misunderstood me, I don’t want to buy but _exchange_.”

The man paused, blinked and then glared at him, chewing on tobacco, rank breath permeating the air making Jon inwardly gag.

Just then Myra and Folami appeared with grave expressions, Jon nonchalantly plucked a pitiful tomato from the basket and held it in-between himself and the man, “Word around is you have the _‘habit’_ of cheating _certain_ buyers--- selling inadequate products.” The vendor growled as he roughly grabbed the boy’s wrist, causing the small crowd to stare in morose interest.

The action launched Folami forward, “Sir, I apologize—he knows not the way---”

The man squinted disgustedly at her, “Wheesht yer gob ape or---”

A pinch on the back of the hand made the man flinch and discovering that the boy had scratched his hand, drawing blood. Jon wiped and licked the substance off his finger, the vendor glowered angrily but before he could backhand the boy, “Tha Agnes Duncan ag ràdh 'Tha e glè fhuar.' _(Agnes Duncan says 'It's very cold.')_ ”*

The man’s face suddenly flashed with surprise then disbelief, “What are---”

Jon’s eyes penetrated into the vendor’s, “Tha a fiaclan agus a cnàmhan a ’crathadh fo na h-uisgeachan reòta ... _(Her teeth and bones are shaking beneath the freezing waters...)_ ”

The man’s grip loosened as color drained from his face, Folami stared at the two and puts her hand on the boy’s shoulder firmly “ _Elijah_ \---”

The Kryptonian leans in, laying a hand on top of the vendor’s, the touch hot as fire making the vendor wince. A serenely sinister grin crosses the boy’s lips, “Tha i gu math aonaranach eadhon leis an fheadhainn eile --- _(She is very lonely even with the others ---)_ ”

“Haud yer wheesht, Haud--- _(Shut up, Shut---)_ ”

“Bidh am Morair Wilson gu math troimh-chèile a bhith a ’cluinntinn gu bheil e ag ithe toradh nas ìsle air sgàth do chlaonadh. _(Lord Wilson will be very upset to hear that he is eating a lower yield because of your bias.)_ ”

Immediately the man’s breath hitched, rapidly looking between the Afri women and the boy whose grip was tightening around his wrist threateningly. Sweat ran down his back, throat lumped with fear and his blood frigid.

Jon tilted his head sanguinely, “A-nis, dè mu dheidhinn an iomlaid sin? _(Now, what about that exchange?)_ ”

The vendor’s face contorted nervously unable to utter a word, the only gesture he could muster was a swift fliting of his eyes towards the bushel of produce Myra was carrying. Jon kept hold of the man until the exchange ended and even then, he deliberately slid his hand off while he kept an intense stare on him.

____________________________

The moon hung low and eerily bright against the speckled sky, Jon sat on the rickety steps of the hut and watched the small bonfire and Afri conversing in the distance.

“Elijah?” Jon glanced at Myra as she gestured towards the gathering to which he bashfully smiled and got up to follow. She grinned as Tobias kisses her hand, tugging her along.

Jon grinned at the display all the while his mind wandered; he managed to convince Folami and Myra that whatever they saw was nothing more than an act of trickery, explaining that he picked up the man’s accent and then spoke his native tongue. The ‘blood licking’ was a simple slight of hand he picked up from another slave before arriving in Jamelitzi before the other ultimately died of fever.

They seemed to accept his explanation because they didn’t mention it again though something told him that Folami didn’t quite believe it due to the way she watched him whenever he was around her.

He couldn’t ignore what happened because in the depths of his subconscious this presence had been whispering and slithering through his veins since the siege. The voice inside him was speaking truth; growing up he always felt as though there was an unknown force driving his actions, thoughts and dreams. It frightened him, this energy beating and thrumming at the core but in retrospect, given the current circumstances, would it be so terrible to entertain the idea of synergy between the phantom within?

____________________________

**Year 5**

**New Gotham**

CLANK!

CLING!

“Steady Damian! We---”

The soldier yelped, barely ducking to avoid a swift swipe of the prince’s sword, Richard cringed as he sighed, running a hand over his eyes, “— _wouldn’t_ want to decapitate anyone....” he tapered off exasperatedly.

Another startled scream broke the camel’s back; Richard looked over at the general, Duke Thomas, giving him a curt nod to end the sparing session. The man snorted as he stepped forward, “STOP!” the two fighters froze and then got into stand-alone positions awaiting orders though Damian merely stood off to the side indignantly glaring at his poor excuse of a sparing opponent.

Thomas clasped the soldier on his armored shoulder, “That’s enough for today Bossmi, head to the barracks.” The man nodded, bowed towards the princes and then marched off, Richard smirked at Duke and then walked up to his brother, “Dami---”

“Thomas, Father promoted you to General out of a vast number of candidates of all our armed forces, yes?” his tone was tight and concise which was never a good thing. The man exchanged a looked with the eldest prince and then responded, “Your majesty is correct.”

The young man jutted his chin up arrogantly, “It was my understanding that besides your bravery, you were also awarded the honor because the King was told of your _impressive_ training regimen yet what I’ve just experienced was nothing short of disgraceful.”

Richard made a choked sound as Duke bulked; the prince continued his tirade, “Perhaps if we demoted you it might inspire those _skills_ because _clearly_ whatever you are teaching is unworthy of the imperial army”

Fiery emerald irises held steady bronze, both standing erect and muscles taut as Richard stood off to the side looking at the two.

He sighed, patience wearing thin “Damian, _enough_. Duke you are dismissed.” The general exchanged a knowing look with the eldest prince before bowing and striding away.

“That was unnecessary brother.”

Richard smirked “ _It is_ when you’re inciting unwarranted hostility.” He snorted as the youngest glowered, “ _You_ of all people should not have brought that up” he said dryly, waving his saber around effortlessly.

Richard’s playful smile faltered, azure irises dimming as his demeanor withered under the truth.

In a blink, four years to the current fifth flashed by barely a whisper heard or stone turned. Time awarded and afforded clarity veiled in tribulation. To the world, they were the ideal of monarchial success alas behind the gilded facade they struggled with familial disharmony, deaths and resurrections and continuous tumults.

The wisdom gained matured and humbled but forced reexamination of past sins; one being the siege of Krypton upon who’s ashes they now reside and thrive.

Behind a mask of apathy, Damian battled with the guilt surrounding the vanquished civilization. He’d grown and mellowed, gained and made lasting friendships but no matter how many people he saved, animals he nurtured it proved futile. The poignant reminder of what he betrayed in the name of monopoly hung around his neck as mocking as the nightmares it invoked every night since.

____________________________

**Year 5**

**Jamelitzi**

**16 years old**

Jon was wiping the sweat from his brow when he suddenly heard a distressed gurgling coming from the thick brush by the barn. He stood silent and then another strangled croak compelled him towards the sound, the drops of rusty red on the leaves lead his eyes to the creature that created them.

Lying with its wings outstretched and wheezing was a black bird, Jon gasped and dropped to his knees in an attempt to procure access to the injured animal. As he reached for it, the bird became alarmed and started to thrash and nip at Jon’s fingers.

Wincing, he repressed the pain and eased forward, “P-Please—please stop, you’re alright. I’m going to help!”

He was able to gently grab the creature’s torso and with a swift pull he removed it from the thicket as the poor thing began to shriek, “Easy—easy little one! Please, hold on—hold on.”

Due to blood loss, the bird’s mania subsided until he fainted which made Jon panic thinking it had died. He rushed towards the barn, climbed to the straw loft over the stables, and laid the bird on a hastily makeshift nest.

Pausing, he took a steady breath touching its chest; tears welled in his eyes when he couldn’t detect a heartbeat or hear gurgling. Sniffling, Jon whimpered, “You aren’t dead. I won’t _allow_ it—you hear me?” a stirring in his core ignited the blood in his veins, he bit into his lip till iron spilled onto his tongue, dabbing it on his finger and mixing it with a water cup.

Maneuvering the bird’s beak open, he poured what he could down its gullet and messaged it down, pressing his thumb softly against the creature’s chest, “Awaken...awaken little one---awaken...!”

His ears heard nothing, no pulsation; it was turning into a lost cause but the voice in the back of his mind whispered, **Its blood...consume....its blood is the gateway...consume...**

Jon shuttered and hesitated but gazing down at the pitiful creature inspired a desperation to save it. He rubbed a finger against the waxy red feathers and lifted off a sticky substance that smelled of copper. He pressed it into his tongue, initiating the bond between human and beast.

Instantly he was privy to the bird’s thoughts and through its memory traversed the skies, in the whoosh of air he heard a timid thump and then another.

_‘Little one...I hear you...I feel your heartbeat---your desire to live, so LIVE!’_

Another beat and then Jon began to feel a trembling, a tingling running throughout his body as the distant fluttering of a light heart began to pulsate. He barely let out a wispy sigh of relief before a voice spoke, **_‘W...Wha—who are you! Where...where am---’_**

Blinking Jon realized he was hearing the disorientated voice of the bird, _‘I—I found you...you were bleeding---dying. I saved you.’_

He looked down noticing the creature was breathing under his thumb and he removed his hand not to warrant panic.

The timid gurgles returned, **_‘I...was flying...hunters...my family are they...?’_**

Jon frowned, his heart sinking _‘No. I only found you...I’m...sorry.’_

An instant wave of grief washed over Jon, battering his mind with the memory of his own tragedy. He could feel tears; cool against his cheeks but didn’t utter a single word as he allowed the creature to weep.

It seemed endless, this river of sorrow and without thinking, he gently picked up the shuttering bird and held it close to his chest, petting the velvety iridescent feathers.

_‘It will not be easy...peace will be elusive and there will be times when your loneliness threatens to devour you...’_

**_‘Easy for a human to say---your kind know nothing of bonds!’_ **

Jon felt the hot hiss of bitterness and anger emanating off the creature, _‘You’re right...I apologize...I only wanted to ease your pain.’_

A wane in the intrepidly stormy emotions aroused a small rueful grin.

_‘Remember who you are for that will be the beacon from which you draw courage to carry on.’_

The fretful bird slowly eased into a steady slumber and carefully, Jon laid it in the nest and left to fetch breadcrumbs and mill worms.

____________________________

Jon dreamt of humidity, sand and crystalline waters amongst flush greenery where the scent of smoke and incense wafted through the air. He felt peaceful and content in the aridness of this land where isolation was a companion and nomadism second nature.

He knew this was not a figment of imagination, nor a patchwork acquisition of anything he read in scrolls. It was too candid and precise; he unwittingly treaded the line between his mind and the bird’s which left him with a feeling of regret.

Whenever he could, he snuck off to check on the injured creature who was drifting in delirium. He examined the wounds on the wing and breast of the bird, dressing the lacerations in a medicinal infused cloth and brought a bag filled with beans, fruit and dry meat as well as water in the hopes that it would arouse the creature.

**_‘What are you doing?’_** the bird’s voice was filled with suspicion as it watched, huddled in its nest off to the side as Jon poured lukewarm water and lye soap with sprigs of lavender in a small basin. He stirred it methodically, checking the temperature until he deemed it adequate and turned towards the bird crawling over to it when suddenly it shrieked while puffing and flapping its wings warningly.

Jon hesitated but continued to inch closer, _‘I have to clean your feathers of blood and grime before I change your wraps.’_

The bird kept a wary stance, beady cacao eyes glistening with fear, **_‘How can I trust you won’t drown me once I’m in the water?’_**

The Kryptonian tipped his head, smiling briefly, _‘I will leave and you can bathe yourself.’_

It seemed to pause and consider Jon’s words before lowering its wings in response to which the boy perked and backed away down the stairs, _‘If you should need me, please don’t hesitate to call.’_

____________________________

**‘Human-- _Human_ —HUMAN I NEED HELP!’**

Jon nearly dropped the dirty dinner plates as he finished the last in the sink when a harrowing yell erupted in his head.

With a quick excuse, he rushed over to the barn anxiously, bursting through the door and scaling the stairs, wincing as he felt splinters enter his palms.

His eyes darted around until he caught sight of the flaying bird, _‘What? What is wrong—did a cat---’_ he asked shakily.

The creature croaked annoyingly, turning his head almost a whole degree to emphasize his back, **_‘Are you daft? Of course not, I do have wings you know!’_**

Jon’s sudden worry morphed into peevishness as he slumped forward, sighing exasperatedly as he hissed at the prickly pain in his hand, _‘Oh pardon me, I merely assumed you were in danger given your overdramatic screeching.’_

The bird paused to glare pointedly or at the very least, that is what Jon figured given his unsettling stare.

A huff flited through his ears, **_‘You told me to call if I required you. I can’t help it if you possess skittish nerves—honestly!’_**

Rather than continue arguing, Jon opted for truce, _‘Alright, point made—now, what is so in need of my attention?’_

Cacao irises dimmed in what Jon assumed was embarrassment. _‘Little one...?’_ he inched forward, noticing a tangled mesh of plumes on the back of the bird.

It only diverted its face, _‘I...I tried to...it is most difficult to clean one’s_ _own back without...’_

Understanding flashed through sky blues eyes as Jon hummed and reached for some soap and water to lather his fingers before gently combing out the crusted gore and filth from its onyx feathers.

____________________________

The boy winced as the bird swiftly pulled the splinters from his palms while Jon sat against the wall of the loft.

 _‘You know...I could’ve used tweezers.’_ He fought the amusement in the back of his throat as he watched the bird shrill lowly.

**_‘And stand another minute of your whining? No thank you...besides, it is the least I could do...’_ **

Jon hummed as the bird extracted the last of the stickers and relief washed over him _‘Thank you...little...what species are you if I may?’_

The bird groomed its wing before looking up at the Kryptonian, **_‘Raven. I am a raven of an ancient line...older than time.’_** Pride pumped through those words and Jon smiled at that, _‘Well, I am honored to make your acquaintance---’_

**_‘Bilal’_ **

_‘Come again?’_

A twitch and gurgle, **_‘My name is Bilal. I was born overlooking the ocean...we ravens are named after nature and regions as a way of tying ourselves to the earth...’_**

There was a wistfulness in Bilal’s tone that intrigued Jon deeply, but the wavering melancholy rebuked that desire.

_‘I see...well, I am glad to meet you Bilal. I’m Jon-El “Jonathan” of Krypton.’_

The raven stilled under the boy’s hands, a tremor undulating through his spindly legs, hopping off his perch he landed in front of the curious boy as he stared into sky blue irises.

**_‘I know of your people...I saw your memories when your blood absorbed into my veins. I...was wrong...about you at least...though I had to be sure, for humans are cunning and deceitful.’_ **

A pang of bitter shame lodged into Jon’s heart, he grimaced, eyes downcast _‘I am all too aware...’_

Soft trills made him look up, **_‘I know you are...I am sorry---’_**

Jon shook his head, _‘Don’t be, everything that happened was my fault---’_

**_‘Jon---’_ **

_‘—I must atone.’_

Bilal peered up at the boy sadly, silent and introspective, **_‘You selflessly gave your blood so that I may live. We Aves, regard such bonds as sacred...except with humans. Of course that doesn’t prevent them from being hexed upon us unwillingly...’_**

He bashfully jumped onto Jon’s knee and bowed, **_‘However, I wish to remain by your side for as long as you have need of me. I am your humble servant.’_**

The loneliness that seemed to plague him without reprieve suddenly lessened, not completely but just enough that Jon felt endeared towards the little raven. He affectionately scratched Bilal’s neck eliciting soft trills, which made the Kryptonian smile.

_‘Let us be friends.’_

Bilal croaked amicably, **_‘As you say Jon...as you say.’_**


End file.
